Mirror, mirror on the wall
by TheFanWhoWasntThere
Summary: Bella is struggling through a midlife crisis alone when she discovers a young homeless man on the beach. Edward is on the run from a past he cannot face when he meets a damsel in distress. Can these two save each other?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hey there, guys! This is a story I've been carrying around with me for a long time. The original plan was to finish it, rewrite it and _then_ put it out there, but I just couldn't wait any longer to share it, so now I'm just going to start putting chapters up even though it's far from perfect. Please don't kill my baby!

I don't have a beta, so all the mistakes are mine. Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. This is all human, some fluff, a little angst, some citrus and language, which I guess makes this M.

* * *

**Mirror, mirror on the wall.**

**Chapter 1**

_You're just like an angel. Your skin makes me cry. _

_You float like a feather in a beautiful world. _

_I wish I was special. You're so fucking special. _

_But I'm a creep. I'm a weirdo. _

_What the hell am I doing here? I don't belong here._

_I don't belong here._

Radiohead: Creep

* * *

EPOV

The sun is coming up in the east. It is unbelievably beautiful with the strands of pink and lavender clouds and colours I don't even know the name of, and the sea a sheet of silver straight to the horizon. My hands and feet are numb and I am shivering so bad I don't know if I can stand up. My body aches, and my eyes are sore and my stomach is so empty it can't rumble – it is like a hole straight through my body. This is my third night on the beach and my second month on the run, and I don't think I will live through next week. But I know I will rather die than go back. I will do anything rather than go back. Anything.

There's a woman in sweats running along the beach. I have seen her before. She lives in one of the beach houses right at the edge of town, with a big deck looking out over the ocean. I have seen her every morning since I came here. She is always alone, doesn't even have a dog with her. I should tell her that it can be dangerous to run alone along the beach at this godforsaken hour, but who am I to talk? I am probably one of those people she should be afraid of.

She has dark hair in a ponytail, but that is almost everything I have seen of her, she is all covered up although she is running and should be getting warm by now, her hood up over her head, and grey, shapeless sweats shielding her from top to toe. I still think that she is beautiful. She moves beautifully, fluently, running without hesitation, without fear, almost with anger.

Now everything hurts so bad that I have to get up. Who knew that sand could be so hard and cold? I contract, I shiver, I stumble and I am on my feet. My head swims and I have to bend over in order to not fall down. What the hell am I going to do for food today? It will be back to the dumpsters again, and hope for better luck than yesterday. I collect the cardboard and newspapers that constitute my bedclothes and hobble up from the beach to stash them for later.

I sit with my back against one of the shacks where people who live nearby keep their stuff for the beach. There are several shacks but they are all locked properly, with expensive-looking padlocks. I know, because I spent a great deal of my first night here desperately trying to break into the shacks to find some better shelter, but I had to give up eventually. Now I just sit with my back to the plank wall and try to soak up some warmth from the May sun, to get the stiffness out of my joints and make a plan for the day.

I feel fuzzy and weak. Maybe this is because I haven't eaten since early yesterday sometime? How long can you last without food? I think I read somewhere that you could live for a week, as long as you had water. I hope I won't have to test that theory. I know I could turn myself in to the police, or go look for a social worker in the park, but that would only be the beginning to another sort of end. My God, I am a young man and my life has already ended.

The other alternative would be to go to the park and _not_ look for a social worker. I have seen boys younger than myself making the rounds and some money from the men who come there for sex. Theoretically I could probably do the same. I am a mess, but I know I used to have the ability to attract members of both sexes. I even used to joke about it, subtly seem to lead some older guy on at a bar, make him try to buy me a drink, and then leave, laughing with my friends. I was a total jerk even then. I probably deserve to be in hell right now. I _am_ in hell right now.

Suddenly, there is something blocking out the warmth of the sunlight. I open my eyes, squinting against a black silhouette standing just a few feet in front of me, with a halo from the sun around its head. Someone is clearing their throat, no, her throat and saying something. I am not paying enough attention, I am caught by surprise. This is the woman who runs on the beach so early in the morning, the woman in grey, baggy sweats, and she is holding out a brown bag and saying something to me in a low voice.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"Would you like some breakfast? I run for breakfast in the morning and I saw you and thought you might like some breakfast too?"

"I, eh, I don't know…I mean, that is very kind of you, but I…"

She squats down on her haunches so that her face is level with my head. Now I can see her face inside the hood. She has dark eyes and dark hair. Correction, she has sad eyes and dark hair. There are tiny wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and her mouth that tells me she is used to smiling, but she does not look as if she is about to smile now. She is pale, here in the state of constant sunshine, but maybe she has some kind of skin disorder and that is why she is hiding in a hood?

Her bottom lip is full, and she is biting it now. Her cheeks are faintly pink and there are delicate shadows under her cheekbones, giving her face a chiseled look, as if someone put some thought into molding it. My head feels empty. She is clearly waiting for me to speak and I am disappointing her, so I say the first thing that comes to my mind.

"You are beautiful."

Her reaction is instant and it's not good. She frowns, blushes, and gets up abruptly. She straightens her back, looks down at me and then carefully bows to drop the bag on the sand right next to me.

"Enjoy."

That's all she says, and then she is walking away with long, even strides, away from the beach, away from me. I sit there, stunned, feeling helpless and stupid. I pick up the bag and look inside. There is a turkey and cheese sandwich and a cup of something hot. I peel off the lid with clumsy fingers and smell it – black tea, not too strong. Good. I couldn't stomach coffee right now. There is some sugar in the bag and I pour it in before I sip it. The hot, sweet liquid burns pleasantly inside me, and I try eating my sandwich in small bites, to make it last longer and to let my empty stomach get used to the feeling of food.

Breakfast over, I stand up after carefully picking up all the crumbs from my sweater and putting them in my mouth. The sun is warm now, there are seagulls crying and more people are walking or running on the beach. I go looking for a public lavatory to relieve myself and clean up. Looking at myself in the foggy mirror over the cracked washstand I think I look like hell. Shadows under my red-rimmed eyes, my hair wilder than ever, but matted, since I have only been able to wash it with cheap soap, a desperate, haggard look to my face.

I used to be a pretty boy, at least that was what people would have me believe. I have never felt pretty. And now I know for a fact that I am a soulless son of a bitch, no matter what I look like. Maybe, finally, my looks are beginning to match my insides? I rub my tired eyes after splashing myself with cold water and try to think. Where to go, what to do?

I can't stop thinking about the woman who brought me breakfast. So mysterious,so selfless. Why would she do such a thing? And I hurt her feelings somehow. I should apologize to her. I know where she lives. Will she freak out even more if I turn up on her doorstep? Maybe if I just make it clear that I want to apologize, that I am thankful, that I respect what she did, maybe then she won't call the cops on me? Who am I kidding, I just want to see her again, to get a look into those deep, sad eyes, to find out her name, to…oh stop. Just Stop. Right. Now. I sigh, pick up the bag with all the stuff I have in the world and head out, to find her beach house.

* * *

BPOV

I love the beach in the morning, the crisp, cold air, the colours of the sunrise on the horizon in the east, the way the water has no colour, then turns silver with the rising light, the smoothness of the sand. Most of all, I love being alone. Very few people are yet about, and I can run without thinking, with nothing but my heartbeat and breath as company, run until my body is completely taken over by the running, the rhythm, the thumping of every step from the soles of my feet up to my head. I punish myself, I punish my body, but I am also elated, feeling that I can do this, that my body obeys me. The aching, the soreness in my muscles, the burning in my lungs, it all feels good. The pain feels good. I believe I deserve the pain.

I see the boy again. This is the third time I have seen him huddled up on the beach. He must have been sleeping here, maybe longer, but it's only now in the past few days that I have noticed him. He seems young and I wonder if nobody has ever warned him about sleeping on the beach. Maybe he has nowhere else to go? Maybe his folks have thrown him out? Maybe he came to California on a bus looking for something and ended up here, out of luck? Maybe he is a criminal on the run? I smile. Maybe he is just a homeless young man and in need of a friendly turn.

I decide to get him some breakfast and drop it off on the way back. When I reach my favourite café I lean against the concrete wall and bend over to get my breath back for a few minutes. My body is on fire, complaining that this is too much, but I let it complain. At least now I know that I am alive. I wipe the sweat from my brow and walk in. There are a few customers, mostly taxi drivers or truck drivers or men and women on their way to work, getting their morning coffee.

I don't look at anyone so I don't know if anyone is looking at me. I go straight to the back, to the toilet, and lock myself in, pee, wash up, drink water and take a couple of deep breaths before going out there again. I am safe within my hood. No one is looking my way. I am just an ugly, sweaty, invisible middle aged woman getting breakfast. I walk up to the counter and Charlotte looks up at me, smiles and says: "Hey there. The usual?"

I nod, and take the dollar bills out of my hood pocket while she turns around to get the tea mug ready. I have almost opened my mouth to order a double breakfast when I close my mouth again and decide that I am going to give my breakfast away today. I don't really need this breakfast, it's just an indulgence, something I use to get myself out of bed and out running in the morning. My body can do without this and wait a little longer until I get home. There is stuff I can eat at home. I can hear my stomach rumble in protest but I knit my eyebrows together and think sternly about the yogurt and apples I can have later. Suddenly I think of something else.

"Charlotte, make that a turkey sandwich instead of egg salad, will you? Nice with a change."

I smile to myself. It's hardly likely that a young guy would share my passion for vegetarian food, right? Better get some more of those proteins inside you, like my father would have said. My smile fades. Good thing he isn't around to see me now. I miss him, but it's better this way. He would have seen right through me, and been hurt at what he saw.

Charlotte comes around with the bag with my breakfast, and takes my money. I tell her to keep the change, then walk out quickly before she can say anything else. I like her easy smile, but I don't like the concern I sometimes see in her eyes, as if she thinks she can read me too. Better steer clear of prolonged human contact, however brief and superficial it may be.

As I walk outside I turn my face to the sun and decide to walk back the same way I came, to look for the boy with the mop of red-brown hair. I'm in no hurry and I look around, taking in the beach, the birds and the sounds of the sea, smelling the saltwater and maybe sage brush in the wind. Finally I spot him, sitting with his back to the huts up at the end of the beach, just below the wall to the sidewalk. He looks pretty beat, as if he didn't get much sleep last night. I shudder to think of how cold it must get here after dark, with the dampness in the sand seeping up from below and the cool mist rising from the ocean to envelop him.

I quicken my steps, then slow down as I approach him. What should I say? Maybe he will be angry with me, mistaking my gesture for pity. But it is pity, isn't it? He would be right to be angry. I am close enough now that I can get a good look at him. He is pale, but I guess that goes with the bronze, almost reddish hair. No freckles, though, and the perfect kind of almost translucent skin that any woman would kill for. Perfect lashes too, thick and black, resting on his cheeks as his eyes are closed. High cheekbones and a beautiful jawline. Full lips, a bit chapped, but still red in his pale face.

I feel my fingers twitch with an impulse to trace that jaw, those cheekbones, but I reflexively curl my hands into fists. Oh, no you don't. No harassing this poor young man, just be nice to him and get out quickly before he can throw something at you. I look around nervously. There are people on the sidewalk who would probably call the police if they witnessed him attacking me, so I should be all right. I step up to him to get his attention.

He looks up, confused. He must not have heard me approaching over the sound of the waves and the sea gulls.

"Would you like some breakfast?" I ask.

He doesn't seem to understand me so I repeat my offer, then squat down so that we can make eye contact. Is he on drugs? I think not, although he looks bleary-eyed and tired out as if he had been up all night, partying. But sleeping on the beach can be no party, I remind myself, and feel a sting of pity again. Maybe I should offer him the chance to come and take a hot shower at my house? But that would be downright stupid, seeing as how I don't know him from Adam. He could be a dangerous rapist for all I know. But he looks so young, no more than twenty, and he has beautiful, green eyes, no matter how weary and grimy he is. Suddenly he's got my attention and my head whips up.

"You're beautiful", he says.

I immediately recoil. _No_, I want to shout, _you're wrong, I am ugly, ugly I tell you!_ But I can't do that, I can't start behaving irrationally among strangers again, I have to get a grip, to push that voice down or I will never get my life back on track again. So I simply do the thing I had been planning to do all along, I leave him my breakfast, no, his breakfast, and I retreat back into my safe haven, my lonely lookout, the house I have borrowed for as long as it takes for me to get my shit together again, as Rosalie so sensitively put it. I walk away without looking behind me, breathing deeply and hoping that he won't have the nerve to follow me. He doesn't, and I am safe again. Alone.

When I get back to the beach house I lock the door carefully behind me, check my voice mail (no messages) and force myself to do a double set of crunch ups and arm exercises before I let myself go into the bathroom, drop my sweats and take a hot shower. I deliberately ignore the big mirror, which gets misted over after the shower anyway, rub myself down with a soft towel and slip into the huge bathrobe that I suppose must have belonged to one of Rosalie's previous conquests. She likes her men big, and I love clothes I can disappear into.

I go into the kitchen to make myself a pot of tea, take out the natural non-fat yogurt from the fridge, slice some fruit into a bowl, and pour myself a big glass of water. I eat slowly, then take the pot of tea and a glass of orange juice over to the living room, with the big windows facing the ocean, and quickly scan the newspaper curled up on the couch, my mind already half on the work I plan to do today, and then I go back to the bedroom and put some clothes on. That's when I hear it. Someone is at the front door. I hear my heart starting to pound in my ears, and a nauseous feeling rises like bile in the back of my throat. Who can it be? It can't possibly be…?


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: So, I'm putting next chapter up early since I'll be away working this weekend! Other than that I plan on weekly updates on the weekends. I'm so glad some people are reading this story – hope you'll enjoy the ride with me!

Disclaimers: I don't have a beta, so all the mistakes are mine. Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff.

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**Chapter 2**

_It's like forgetting the words to your favourite song_

_You can't believe it, you were always singing along_

_It was so easy, and the words so sweet_

_You can't remember, you try to feel the beat._

_Beat, eet, eet, eet…_

_You spend half of your life trying to fall behind_

_You're using your headphones to drown out your mind_

_It was so easy, and the words so sweet_

_You can't remember, you try to move your feet._

_Beat, eet, eet, eet…_

_Someone's deciding whether or not to steal_

_He opens a window just to feel the chill_

_He hears that outside a small boy's just started to cry_

'_cause it's his turn but his brother won't let him try_

_It's like forgetting the words to your favourite song_

_You can't believe it, you were always singing along_

_It was so easy, and the words so sweet_

_You can't remember, you try to move your feet_

_It was so easy, and the words so sweet_

_You can't remember, you try to feel the beat_

_tt, tt, tt.._

Regina Spektor: Eet

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**EPOV**

It's a beautiful house, like most of the beach houses here, windows to the sea, a deck catching the sun all day, a set of stairs right down to the sand. Probably designed by someone with money for someone with money, a bit run down with time, but charming, the floor boards grey and worn with sun, salt and wind. A house in its middle age, but well groomed and loved, probably a lot like its owner. I feel a little sick to my stomach approaching this house in my present state.

It would have been different a year ago. This is the kind of house my foster parents could have owned, where they might have thrown parties and shown me off to their friends, the straight A-student, the piano wizard, the scholarship boy. They liked me in a shirt and tie, and their friends liked me too, some of the women my mother's age were ogling me on the sly, and didn't think I noticed them. But I did. It made me feel…dirty.

I never let on, though, I always smiled and said the right things, the things they wanted to hear. I can't do that anymore. That's why this house makes me uncomfortable – I don't belong here anymore. I almost turn around before I reach the front door. But then I remember that brief moment on the beach when she was crouching down and I got a good look at her. How her eyes were a warm, deep brown, but so sad, as if there was nothing in the world that could make her smile again. I wanted to change that, but whatever I said was clearly wrong and offensive to her, and now I should make up for it.

I straighten up, suck in a deep breath and walk up to ring the doorbell. I wait for what seems like a long time, and I am just about to ring the bell again when I hear someone on the inside and feel someone looking out through the peep hole. There is a short silence, and then the door opens and I see her again.

No hood this time. Her hair is dark and still wet from a shower, spread out over her shoulders in a fan, and she has changed into a black shirt and black, long yoga pants that seem too big on her. Her feet are bare and her face seems to be without make up. She looks wary, and her shoulders seem tense. I take a step back from the door, to make sure that I don't crowd her.

"Thank you for breakfast", I say, quickly, before she can close the door on me.

"I came here to apologize. Obviously I said something that offended you, and that was not my intention. I wasn't trying to…to come on to you or anything like that, I was just tired and confused and said the first thing that came to my mind. It was very nice of you to bring me breakfast, and I am truly grateful."

She is looking down now, and, what - is she blushing? Yes, a deep pink wave is spreading over her face and throat, and I see that she is painfully aware of this and wishing that it was not so. I used to blush a lot when I was a kid and get all kinds of grief for it – boys don't blush, unless they are wimps, I was told – so I can understand how it feels to have your body turn traitor on you. I look away, so that she won't feel as if I am staring at her.

"Anyway, so I just came by to say that I am sorry, and say thank you, and I will be on my way now…"

My voice trails off, and I start to slowly shuffle backwards, when I hear her say, in her low, soft voice: "Aren't you very tired?"

My head comes up and I look straight at her. Her eyes are amazing, big, brown eyes, like melting chocolate with flecks of gold in them in the sunlight, so warm they draw me in and make me lose my train of thought.

"Tired?" I say. "Yes, you have no idea."

I laugh, a short, helpless laugh, feeling the complete weariness of my body, every aching inch of it.

"If you like, you can use a deck chair to sleep here in the sun for a couple of hours. It's warm, and it's reasonably quiet, and no one will disturb you. I can bring out a blanket if you like?"

She looks at me, nothing but genuine concern in her face, hesitant, as if she can't gauge my reaction. I am baffled by her suggestion, by her generosity, and I am much too worn out to refuse.

"Yes, if you're sure that it's okay, that would..actually that would be wonderful."

She turns around, picks up her keys from a bowl on a table inside the door, and a blanket from a chair, slips her feet into a pair of flip-flops and walks out on the deck with me. When she walks past me to lead the way around to the other side of the house I feel her scent waft past me, a flowery mix I can't really identify, of lavender or freesia, and warm skin. I swallow, hard, and follow her.

At the back of the house are a set of deck chairs with pillows and a table to set your drinks or books on while reclining in the sun. There is a big sun umbrella too, and she gestures to me to take whichever of the chairs I want, and I pick one which leaves my head in the shadow and my feet in the sun. She puts the blanket down, and retreats, saying that she will be back to check on me later. I have just put my bag down and sat down on the deck chair when she is suddenly back with a bottle of water for me, that she puts down on the table. She leaves again so quickly that I barely have time to stutter out a thank you.

Now I feel completely overwhelmed, almost on the brink of tears. Her hesitant, spontaneous goodness reminds me of my foster mother, and suddenly memories, unwelcome and cruel, come flooding in. I close my eyes, kick off my shoes and curl up on the deck chair under the blanket that is made of soft wool, an embrace of sorts. I pull the blanket half way over my head and feel the tears slip under my lashes when a sob shakes my shoulders. Before I know it, I feel myself going under, giving in to sleep. It is strange, but for the first time in a long time I feel safe. I feel…at home.

When I wake up the light has changed and I understand that it must be early in the afternoon. I am stiff from having slept like a stone in the same position for hours, but some of the bone-weary feeling has leaked out of me and I feel more human again. I stretch, and then I jerk upright when I realize that she is sitting across from me in another deck chair, watching me impassively.

"Sorry if I scared you", she says, standing up. "I didn't want to wake you. It's kind of fascinating, watching you sleep."

She swallows and looks away, towards the ocean. "I'm sorry, I don't know why I said that." She draws a deep breath, starting again.

"I was going to ask you, do you want to use the shower now that you're here?" She is starting to blush again, stuttering:

"Not, not..I don't mean that you smell or anything, I just mean that, I know you have been sleeping on the beach, and maybe a warm shower would be nice"…her voice trails off.

I sit looking at my feet, feeling something hot rise up from my stomach, through my chest, contracting in my throat, making me swallow convulsively. I clear my throat and look up at her through my lashes, trying to make sure that my voice comes out right.

"You're being very nice to me. Of course I would love a shower, but only if you are sure that you would be comfortable with that." I hesitate.

"A lot of people would think twice before letting a stranger sleep on their porch, much less let him into the house. I appreciate it, very much."

She shrugs her shoulders, a tiny smile twitching at her lips as she nods to me.

"I don't have exceptional people skills, or outstanding judgement, but I think I can trust you enough to let you use the bathroom." She is holding out her hand to me.

"I am Bella, by the way, Bella…Swan."

I clumsily rise to my feet and move forward to shake her hand. A small flash of something, static maybe, stings my hand as we touch, and I drop her hand after a brief squeeze. My hand feels cold and heavy in her small, warm hand.

"Please, let me introduce myself", I say. "My name is Edward…Edward Masen."

The lie comes with more difficulty this time, she is not the kind of person I like to lie to, but I really have no choice. I try to judge her age, looking at her. She is not very tall, and is slight in build, but she looks well put together and I get the feeling that she is stronger than she seems. Her hair is dry now, and the deep brown catches red glints from the sun, and I see a small streak of silver on the left side of her face, still no visible makeup. She must be thirty-something, maybe forty, but she looks like a teenager who has borrowed her father's clothes. Her bare feet in flip-flops are beautiful.

I was right. She is beautiful, with those dark eyes, delicate eyebrows, high cheekbones and full bottom lip. She is standing with her hands behind her, resting on the back of her hips, and she seems to be restless even though she stands still. Maybe she is nervous around me? She should be. I am not good to be around, not good for anyone. I sigh and pick up the blanket and my bag from the deck as she slowly starts moving around the house, glancing back at me.

She opens the door and lets us into the house and I fold the blanket and hand it to her. She takes it and nods down a corridor to the left.

"The guest bathroom is the first door on the right. The door beyond that is the laundry room. If you like you can put your clothes in the washing machine, and borrow some clean clothes until they are dry. It's a fast cycle, so they should be ready from the dryer in less than two hours, if you feel you have to get going?"

I don't know where to look, but I nod and thank her, before moving off down the corridor. I was right, this is a loved and well-tended house, lots of warm wood in golden colours, tiles on the floor and art on the walls.

I walk into the guest bathroom which reminds me of my bathroom at home, beautiful blue and cream and a big mirror covering all of one wall. There is a bath towel laid out for me on the counter and a neatly folded pile of clean grey sweats by the sink. I unroll them and look them over: a blue t-shirt, a pair of grey sweat pants and a grey hood, and a pair of boxer shorts. They look slightly too big for me, but will do just fine while my clothes get a much-needed wash.

I strip quickly, then step into the shower even before the water has time to really heat up. I let it get scalding hot, and then I hear myself sobbing. I don't know if it's the pleasure of the hot water making me relax, or the unaccustomed kindness of a stranger, but I have to control my rasping breaths and relax to steady my trembling hands while I wash my hair and body slowly, deliberately.

_A/N: So did Bella do the right thing, or is she being incredibly stupid to let a homeless person into her home? Well, it's Edward so…. Tell me what you think! _


	3. Chapter 3

A/N:I don't have a beta, so all the mistakes are mine. Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff.

Chapter 3.

_Bodies in the bodhi tree, bodies making chemistry,_

_Bodies on my family, bodies in the way of me,_

_Bodies in the cemetery and that's the way it's gonna be._

_All we've ever wanted was to look good naked, hope that someone can take it._

_God, save me rejection from my reflection. I want perfection._

_Jesus didn't die for you, what are you on? (I want perfection)_

_Robbie Williams: Bodies_

BPOV

When I come out on the porch later I find him still sleeping. His face is relaxed in sleep, like a little boy's face, his full lips slightly open, his cheek flushed, his long, dark lashes touching his skin, tousled brown hair that looks as if it could do with a wash. I don't have the heart to wake him so I sit down quietly, content with watching him breathe slowly, in and out.

It makes me feel peaceful. It also makes me want to…touch him, to touch that cheek, run my hands through that hair, trace his lips with my fingers. I feel myself blushing at my own thoughts. Oh God, I should be thankful that he is asleep or he would probably see what I'm thinking and run away screaming, totally disgusted.

I wonder what he has been through, what has brought him here. He seems out of place here, the way he speaks, his politeness, how he holds himself, everything speaks of someone middleclass, someone brought up well, with educated parents. Why would he end up on the street? Unless he has been doing drugs or run away from a jail sentence..but that doesn't seem likely somehow. He seems too…gentle, I guess is the word I am looking for, although he doesn't seem weak. I saw the muscles of his back move under his t-shirt and his arms are sinewy – he is lean, but looks strong. His hands are beautiful with long fingers, a musician's hands. I wonder what it would feel like to hold one of them against my cheek?

Now I'm blushing again, and I move involuntarily, out of embarrassment. My movement seems to alert him suddenly, through his sleep, to the fact that he is not alone, and he stirs, moving his hands to his face, rubbing his eyes, dragging them through his hair, stretching out his long legs. Then he sees me, and sits up abruptly, his eyes big. Oh, shit, I scare him, well obviously, since I am practically stalking him in his sleep when he is lying there, all defenseless! Nice going, Bella.

He looks at me uncomfortably, his face still flushed from sleep, his hair standing up in all directions, looking pretty adorable. He must want a warm shower, if he's been sleeping on the beach for more than two nights in a row, I should offer him the chance to wash up and give him some real food, he must need it. Right, that's why I came out here to begin with, to ask him if he wanted to have some lunch, but then I lost my train of thought just looking at him sleep. I must be going crazy – Crazy Bella, that's what they will call me, when I have lived here for years all alone, talking to stray cats, picking up random men on the beach so that I can ogle them in their sleep.

I stand up and apologize, and offer him the use of my bathroom. His reaction confuses me, he seems embarrassed, but accepts and follows me into the house, not meeting my eyes. He seems to think that I am exceptionally generous for trusting him in the house, but now I feel as if I know him, and as if he is at my mercy, much more so than the other way around.

I tell him that he can use the laundry room for his clothes, because I found these clean sweats that I think will fit him (thank God Rose lets her boyfriends leave their stuff lying around.) I watch him walking down the hall to the guest bathroom and I wait until he shuts the door behind him. He looks so defeated it makes my heart ache. Whatever happened to this man? How can I help him? I slowly walk to the kitchen, and pull out things to make a nice lunch, omelets, salad, fresh rolls and some cheese. I slice spring onions and fresh spinach and grate cheese, I whip up the eggs and put the rolls in the oven.

Just when everything is ready I hear his footsteps and turn around to see him walking into the kitchen, where the early afternoon sun is gold on the walls, bringing out the red in his hair and the gold flecks in his exceptionally green eyes. I feel my breath catch when I meet his gaze, he is so beautiful, and now he looks clean, more relaxed, more like himself. He totally fits in here, I bet he would look spectacular in a dark green shirt and a pair of slacks..Focus, Bella!

"I'm glad that the clothes seem to fit you", I say. "Did you manage to start the washer OK?"

He smiles a small, lopsided smile.

"I admit that I'm not the greatest when it comes to doing house chores, but I have done laundry once or twice. Would you remind me to go put it in the dryer in forty minutes, please?" His gaze shifts to the lunch I have laid out on the counter and he hesitates visibly. I hurry to put him at ease.

"I was having a late lunch, and I made some extra stuff in case you were hungry: would you like some food? It's nothing really, just some omelets and things I had in the fridge"…my voice falters as I feel my gaze getting too intense when I look into those green eyes again. He looks serious, but nods.

"You really didn't have to go to all that trouble, but I can't lie to you, I would love some food. Can I help you with anything?"

I look around and suggest that he get us some water bottles from the fridge. I would suggest a beer, but I don't have any in the house, and I don't know if it would be inappropriate to open a bottle of wine when I don't know what kind of drug problems he might have. I hardly drink anything anymore, and opening a bottle of wine always seems pointless when you know it's just going to go to waste before you ever get a chance to finish it.

He brings the water to the table by the window and I get us plates and glasses, and start piling salad and half an omelet onto my plate to make him comfortable about helping himself, before I sit down. He fills his plate and sits down across from me, and spreads the napkin in his lap before he tucks in.

He actually has good table manners, but I guess that this doesn't surprise me, pouring me some water and passing me the bread before I have to ask. I don't know where to look, since I seem to catch myself staring at him all the time, so I focus on the food and the glimpse of the sea through the window.

"I'm glad that the clothes were okay", I say, to break the silence.

He looks up at me through long lashes and smiles that crooked smile again, the smile that seems to have a strange effect on my pulse.

"Thank you, they're fine, and that was very thoughtful of you", he says. "This is delicious, by the way", he adds and gestures to his plate. "Do you mind if I have some more?"

"Please help yourself, it would be a pity to see it go to waste," I add.

This is such a unexpected experience, sitting across the table from this man whom I have just met, and feeling strangely comfortable. The thumping of my heart when he looks at me is, well, not unpleasant, and it is definitely not the beginning of an anxiety attack. I try to remember: when was the last time that I shared my home with a person and felt this comfortable? I swallow and then decide not to pursue that line of thought.

After we eat he helps me clean up the kitchen and put the dishes in the dishwasher, in spite of my protests, then goes to check on the laundry while I make some coffee. We take our coffee cups out onto the deck, to enjoy the afternoon sunshine, and stand leaning against the railing. There's a breeze off the ocean and clouds on the horizon that tell me there may be rain coming.

"It's a beautiful house", he says, looking back at the French doors we just came out through.

"Yes, it is. It's not mine, I am borrowing it from a friend this year, for the first time. But it needs some work. I have been meaning to look for a firm that could come in and oil the deck for me. The salt from the ocean eats away at the wood."

He looks down at the deck, tracing it with his naked foot, thoughtful. I look at his long fingers wrapped around the coffee mug and the golden hairs glistening on his bare arms. He bends down and runs his free hand over the floor boards and squints up at me. I am suddenly acutely aware of a sliver of bare skin that has appeared between his t-shirt and his sweatpants.

"You would probably need to wash it down and touch up the surface first too", he says. "I spent some summers on the coast and salt water and sun can really be a bitch – oh, sorry," he adds, his green eyes startled when he looks at me, like a kid that has been caught swearing. I can't help smiling.

"Do you think you could do that for me?" I quickly add: "Of course I would pay you, I'm not asking you to work for free or anything like that."

He looks surprised, straightens up and looks around doubtfully.

"I wouldn't mind helping you out, but I don't have the equipment or anything, so it might take a while if you want me to do the entire deck. Are you sure you don't want to hire professionals to do the job?"

I feel myself blushing, and look away. Silly Bella, why would he want to stay here and do something he clearly was never trained to do? I clear my throat and force myself to smile.

"No, of course you're right. That was just an idea. I am probably just lazy, but I have a dread of dealing with carpenters. They are like car mechanics or people trying to sell you a computer – they make me feel awkward and stupid." I hesitate. "Are you looking for a job, though?"

I look at him, and now it is his turn to avert his eyes from me. After a short silence he speaks up, his face still turned towards the ocean.

"Yes, I am unemployed and broke right now, that's one of the reasons why I've been sleeping on the beach." He sighs. "It's a long story. Do you know of any place that is hiring?"

He looks back at me, his face embarrassed, and drags a hand through his hair, which is pointing wildly in all directions. I think, and drink up the last of my coffee, which makes me remember something.

"There's a café down at that end of the beach that I think is looking for help. I don't know what kind of help they are looking for, but I could take you down there and introduce you to the staff if you like? I've been going there pretty much every day for months, so they sort of know who I am."

I reach out to take his empty coffee mug, and as he gives it to me our fingers brush against each other and I feel a warmth, like a sting of electricity pass between us. He seems to feel it too, because there's a startled look in his eyes when he looks at me, and then our eyes seem unable to break contact for a long time, until I remember to breathe again, and he finds his voice and says that yes, sure that would be great, and disappears to get his clothes out of the dryer.

While I rinse the coffee mugs and put them in the dishwasher I think about it. This extraordinarily beautiful, polite and well-versed young man who is clearly in deep trouble has shown up on my doorstep, slept on my porch and eaten at my table, and now I don't want to shove him out of my house and leave him on the beach again. In fact, apart from the effect he seems to have on my pulse and my breathing, I feel strangely soothed by his presence, as if he was an old friend, or family, in a good way. I have no reason to trust him, yet I feel as if I do. And that is a first for me.

One of the things my therapist has told me is that I have" intimacy issues". Spelled out that means not only that right now I have been avoiding all my colleagues and friends for more than six months and have more or less given up permanently on the idea of dating, but that I have a hard time walking out in public, just going to the grocery store, and get panic attacks whenever people get too close to me or seem to look at me too much. The only place I feel really safe is behind a locked door, alone. And even there I have a hard time sleeping because of the nightmares. I am a mess, but then I probably deserve to be. I sigh.

So, I should in all likelihood not implicate this nice man in my screwed-up life and unhinged decision-making, but I think that I will anyway, and blame it on the fact that he doesn't seem to have anyone else stepping up to take an interest in him or give him a hand. I smile bitterly to myself. Poor kid.

I hear someone clearing their throat and jump, since I didn't hear him coming. I turn around and see him standing there in his now clean jeans and sweater, dragging a hand through his unruly hair in a gesture that already seems familiar, dangling a bag by his side. He smiles apologetically.

"I'm all set. Thank you for letting me clean up. I left the clothes I borrowed in the hamper by the washing machine – I hope that's all right?"

Suddenly I scuttle around, talking fast and scooping up my keys, looking for my purse and my shoes, afraid that he will evaporate as quickly as he turned up.

"Right, let's take a walk down to Kate's then, shall we, and see if they still have that opening I mentioned?" I say, and I think that my voice sounds artificial and overbearing, as if I were encouraging a small child. When I look up at him I see that his eyes are worried, and I'm not sure if that's because I'm behaving like a moron or if he is afraid that I am trying to get rid of him, when that is the last thing on my mind. I stop abruptly with one shoe in my hand, and straighten up.

"If that is what you want?" I say uncertainly. "I thought if I came with you it would help? And then you can leave your stuff here and we can come back for it later...?" (Why does every sentence I say sound as if it's a question?)

He smiles, and this is the first real smile I have seen on his face and it melts my insides because it is the smile of an angel, making his eyes sparkle and bringing out a dimple in his right cheek. How can a smile light up a face and be so warm? It's positively dazzling me, and I blink. Wow! Where did that smile come from?

"OK, Bella, that sounds fine by me", is all he says, and like a gentleman he opens the door for me and stands politely to the side while I lock up and then lets me lead the way down to the street.

I didn't forget my windbreaker and sunglasses in spite of feeling flustered, and I hurry to hide behind my hood and shield my eyes from the world. Not that anyone is looking, except at the handsome young demi-god walking by my side, with a confident stride and the remnants of that smile still on his beautiful lips. I realize that Edward is better than a bodyguard, better than a hood: with him in tow I don't ever have to worry about being the focus of attention. He is what everyone sees, not me. I sigh, if with relief or disappointment I don't know.

When we get to Kate's the two waitresses are taking care of the last of the afternoon coffee drinkers and the early dinner eaters, but business is not at its peak. I point Edward to the sign in the window I saw this morning that is still there "Help wanted. Ask at the cash register." and we go inside. I recognize the older of the two waitresses, and ask her if Kate is here, who owns the place. She nods towards the back and points us to the office. I almost take Edward's hand, but then stop myself just as my fingers touch his, and take a couple of quick strides looking over my shoulder at him instead, gesturing to him with my head.

I have talked to Kate a number of times. Sometimes this is where I come in the afternoons when business is slow and when I need to get out of the house. I like to have my tea or coffee at the table in the corner, where I have a clear view of the entire place, far from the windows but not too far from the door. This is where I sometimes come with my lap-top to work for an hour, when it is impossible for me to get any work done around the house. No one bothers me if I don't want to be bothered, there are friendly voices in the background, and I get a nice feeling of being left in peace but not alone.

Kate jokes that I am writing the next great American novel because it's about time we had ourselves a new Joyce Carol Oates, and I make some lame joke about hoping to get nominated for Oprah's book club. Kate is nice. She has a great sense of humor and she reads a lot of different stuff, more than I thought a café-owner did, but hey, that is probably just my academic prejudice talking?

When I knock on the door to the office, Kate immediately answers "NO, open the DOOR and come in!" and I laugh, because this is a Kate-joke. I smile encouragingly at Edward who looks a little nervous and let us in.

It's a tiny room, crowded with a desk, two chairs, an old computer and shelves with binders and stacks of papers, and in the corner sits a dilapidated filing cabinet. Kate, a good-looking blonde woman in her early thirties, wearing a light-blue shirt and slacks, is leaning back in her office chair, with an open binder in front of her, the phone at her ear and two pens sticking out of a messy bun on her head. She looks up at me and smiles, and then her blue eyes glide over to Edward and I see them widen fractionally as she sits up and takes notice.

"Uhu, yes that's right. We need that delivery by Tuesday next week at the latest. See to it. Yes, I know, but just fix it already, Okay? Bye." She puts the phone down and her smile grows, while she is looking from one of us to the other.

"Bella, how can I help you? Who is your friend?" she asks, and looks pleasantly over at Edward who is shifting his weight from one graceful leg to the other.

I smile back at her and wave my hand at Edward. "Kate, this is Edward Masen, and Edward, this is Kate Monaghan, the owner of this café. Edward told me just now that he was in the neighborhood looking for a job, and then I thought of you and the sign saying that you are hiring help. So we just decided to drop by and see if there was still an opening."

Kate is still smiling at Edward. "Soo, Edward, do you have any previous experience in the restaurant business?"

Edward smiles back, and even though this time the full force of his smile is directed at Kate and not at me I can feel the side-effects and go a little weak in the knees.

"Not much, I'm afraid," he says apologetically. "I did work in the kitchen at college as a part of a work-study scholarship program, and in the student union café on weekends, but other than that I have done mainly office work at my father's business in the summers when I went to high school."

"Office work? Your father wasn't an accountant by any chance? I would really need some help with this crappy program I have…"

I can see that Kate is interested, and I decide that this is probably a good time to back out of the office that is really too small to let me feel comfortable. I can already feel a drop of cold sweat running down my back, not just because of the room temperature, and it's probably better that I stop hovering over Edward and leave them to discuss this on their own. I give a little half-wave of silent goodbye as I slowly ease toward the still open door.

As I take the two steps to the door, Edward half turns and reaches out a hand to me, and I accidently touch it when I lower my hand. His long fingers curl briefly around mine. Once again I feel that energy on contact and wonder what it is. "Wait for me?" he mumbles, and I nod as I glide out and shut the door behind myself.

I lean against the door and feel my heart pounding. This time I'm not sure if it is the beginning of a panic attack from feeling cooped-up in there, or if it is the feeling of Edward's cool fingers against my palm that has set me off. Neither can I make up my mind if I am feeling elated or on the brink of tears. Oh, I am so fucked up.

A/N: So, would you hire Homeless Edward if he turned up at your place of work? Please let me know if you're feeling gracious today…


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I'm so glad some people are reading my little story! Disclaimer: I don't have a beta, so all the mistakes are mine. Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff.**

* * *

**Chapter 4**

_I've noticed these are mysterious days _

_I look at it and like a jigsaw puzzle and gaze _

_with wide open mouth and burning eyes _

_if only I could start to care _

_my dreams and my Wednesdays ain't going nowhere _

_baby baby, you don't know,__  
_

_you don't know, _

_you don't know anything about me _

_what do I know? I know your name _

_you don't know you don't know _

_you don't know anything about me_

Milow: You don't know

* * *

**EPOV**

This has been the weirdest sort of day. Going from an awful break of dawn to this afternoon, when I am walking along the beach with Bella after a nap, a wonderful shower and lunch, feeling almost like myself again. Correction, feeling like an improved version of myself. I glance surreptitiously over at Bella while we're walking, marveling at how she manages to look like a movie star behind those huge sunglasses, even though she is still in yoga pants and a black windbreaker, no visible make-up, just sneakers, no heels.

She seems nervous and keeps looking down at the pavement, not inclined to talk, but that is fine with me. I wouldn't know what to say, how to hold her attention. People we pass glance her way too, probably wondering if they should be recognizing her – this is California after all, and a chance encounter with a movie star could just happen. I smile to myself. I couldn't be more thrilled if I was walking along with Catherine-fucking-Zeta Jones. She would never have given me the time of day, much less cooked me an awesome lunch and trusted me enough to help me find employment. Bella is an incredible lady, and I am still completely bewildered at my luck.

The café is small but looks inviting and seems to have a steady stream of customers. The sign is still in the window, and Bella leads me round to the back office, seemingly knowing her way around the place. The manager, Kate, seems like a great lady, too, and I can see that she is reacting to my outward appearance now that I am scrubbed up and presentable again. Beauty is only skin-deep, I would like to warn her, but who am I not to capitalize on my only bankable asset? So I smile and try to find out what it is she would like to hear from me.

When Bella tries to creep out of the office I have a brief flash of panic, and I have to make sure that she won't just slip away again. My hand curls instinctively around her small, warm hand, and she gives me a small reassuring smile as she nods her promise to wait for me. I exhale and relax infinitesimally, then turn back to Kate with yet another one of my best smiles. What will it take to make her hire me, I wonder?

"So, Edward, you do have some experience with keeping records on a computer?" Kate asks. I nod. In fact I do, although not much, but back home my father and mother let me try my hand at most of the tasks around their respective offices, since I was good at almost everything and a quick learner.

Kate is looking at me speculatively. "What I really need is someone who can take the morning shift every time it's needed, be here to clean and open up early in the morning, help with the morning rush hour, washing the dishes, clearing the tables, keeping the coffee machine going and stocking the fridge, taking out the garbage, that sort of thing. You won't have to serve the customers or manage the till or cook, at least not to begin with. After a bit, it would be good if you could become familiar with the rest of the tasks too – whenever someone calls in sick it's convenient if we can all pitch in and help each other out. And if you can show me that you can work this shitty program, I will probably give you a raise".

She knits her eyebrows and gives the computer an angry slap. "Think you can do that?"

"That sounds wonderful," I say, and I mean it too. Kate nods to the other chair and I sink down, careful to keep a respectful posture, my back straight, even though Kate herself is lounging in her desk chair like a teenager.

"Then I need you to fill out a form with your name, address, social security number and bank account number, and we're all set to go," she says, and starts rummaging through her desk drawers. Now it's my turn to knit my eyebrows.

"Actually, Ms Monaghan, that will be a bit of a problem. I only just got here, and I haven't got any of those things straightened out yet." She is looking at me under raised eyebrows now, sky-blue eyes narrowing.

"You haven't found a place to stay? I'm sure you'll sort something out, though. Do you have your ID, driver's license, any kind of papers? No social security number? No credit card? How come?"

This is where it gets tough, but I'm willing to give it my best shot, for Bella's sake. I clear my throat.

"I have had some family trouble," I say, looking Kate straight in the eye to make my story more believable. "I dropped out of college and left home after a huge fight with my step-father. I didn't take anything with me, I just picked up and left, and now I'm starting over. I don't want anything to do with my family or my old life, and I don't want to give them any chance of finding me. I have no money, no ID, no papers, nothing. You have to take me at face value, I guess. But I work hard and I am willing to do minimum wage and long hours." _Just like other wet-backs and shady characters_ is what I think Kate is thinking but not saying.

She is still looking at me, her face unmoving. I swallow.

"How do I know that you're not wanted by the police for selling drugs or killing someone, or running away from knocking some girl up?", she says, unsmiling.

I shrug my shoulders in a defeated way, and look down at the floor, then up at her through my lashes.

"You don't, I guess, you just have to trust your own judgement and give me the chance to prove myself." I tense my shoulders, waiting for her to make her mind up and chuck me out of her office. She leans back in her chair and puts her arms behind her head, thinking.

"Here is what we'll do, Edward", she says slowly, after a minute that feels like an hour. She sits up straight and runs a hand through her blond hair. "I will give you one week to prove that you are indeed a hard worker and that I can trust you to do what you´re told and not mess things up. If after a week I feel you can live up to expectations, I will let you stay on until you do anything, and I mean anything, to make me change my mind about you. In that case, you'll be lucky if I don't set the cops on you so fast you won't know what hit your ass."

She glares at me with those piercing blue eyes. "You start tomorrow morning at 5.30. We open at 6. Carmen will show you around and you would be wise to do exactly as she tells you, or I will be very pissed off when I show up. I pay you minimum wage, until I can tell that you deserve better, then I will give you a raise. Since you don't have a bank account, I will pay you cash at the end of the week until you get yourself one. And I advise you to get a driver's license as quickly as possible. You will need it around here."

She stands up and sticks her hand out. I take it as my cue to stand up and shake hands with her.

"Thank you, Ms Monaghan", I say, with all the sincerity I can muster. "I will do my best to make sure you won't regret this. I sure appreciate it."

She smiles, still a little tight-lipped, but this time it reaches her eyes.

"Yeah, make sure you don't make me regret this, Edward, or it's your ass on the line." She winks, suddenly, and then gestures for me to accompany her while she takes me around to meet the other employees, the chef, Jimmy, a heavily built guy in his late thirties, and two women, one of which is Carmen, who is taking off for the day.

She is an attractive woman in her forties, long, black wavy hair with a hint of grey, olive skin and striking almond-shaped eyes, wearing jeans, a scarlet tank top and leather boots, sunglasses pushed back on her head. She looks tough, like a biker mom, her handshake is firm and she shifts a huge handbag on her shoulder as she turns to me and says hello with a smile. I think I'll be OK with her.

"See you at 5.30, Edward", she says as she is leaving. "Remember: early bird gets the work, right?"

Kate gives my shoulder a small slap and tells me to not be late tomorrow. As I walk out through the door to the café I look around and see Bella, sitting outside in the shade under an umbrella, in the far corner where she has her back to the wall and a full view of her surroundings, nursing a latte. I feel a small sense of relief when I see her, as if I can't believe my luck: she hasn't bailed on me.

She stands up and walks toward me when she sees me, carefully skirting the tables and chairs, keeping a wide berth from the other customers sitting in the sun, interspersed with shadow as the clouds come and go. When she comes up to me she tilts her head up and I try to see her eyes behind the sunglasses as she asks me how my interview with Kate went.

"Fine", I say. "I start tomorrow at 5.30!"

She blanches, then mutters something unintelligible, before she looks up at me again, and asks me if I want a latte. I shake my head.

"No, I'm fine. But if you want to stay here and finish your coffee, that's absolutely fine with me. I can wait." I look at her, trying to figure out what she wants. She shakes her head.

"No, let's walk back." She starts walking and I follow her, catching up so that we are walking side by side, me on the side nearest the road, like my dad taught me to do when in the company of a woman. When we reach some stairs to the beach, she takes a detour, and I follow her down unto the sand. It's heavier walking, but I enjoy the warmth of the late afternoon or early evening, and the chance to drag this time out a little more. I still don't know what I will do when we get back to her place. Take off – but where?

I will have to stick around close to the café for tomorrow morning, but I guess I can look for a place to sleep that is close by. Even if I don't get much sleep I know I will make it to my new job on time, and that is something to look forward to. Working in a restaurant will mean I will probably be able to sneak scraps to eat from the leftovers, which means I will last until my first paycheck comes around at the end of the week, which is another perk. I smile to myself. My life is really back to basics. Solve the eat and sleep questions and I almost feel like a lucky winner.

Bella is clearing her throat and I look at her. Her dark brown hair is free, and long wisps of it are blowing in her face, sticking to her lips. My eyes fasten on her mouth, how plump her lower lip looks now that she is biting it again.._I want to bite that lip_. Error, error. Earth to Edward. Listen to what she is saying, for God's sake!

"Would it be OK if you stayed at my place until you can figure something out?", she says, not really looking at me, but down at the sand.

"Sleep on your porch? That would be wonderful," I blurt out, amazed. "That is really generous of you."

Now she is looking at me, and once more that small smile is playing on her gorgeous lips. She gestures up at the sky and says: "Really, Edward? Sleep on the porch? I think it might be a better idea if you stayed in the guest room. I don't think we'll escape some rain before tomorrow, the way it looks right now." I follow her gaze and I see that she is probably right, and that we should get a move on, since the sun has disappeared and the grey clouds are covering the horizon.

I look down at her and try to think of a way to convey my gratitude as we quicken our steps. When we reach her house, I stop and reach out a hand to tentatively grasp her hand in both of mine.

"Bella," I say. "Thank you. I know you didn't have to do any of this, and that most people would never have gone out of their way for me, the way you have today. I just…I just want you to know that I fully appreciate what you have done for me, and that…that I will do everything to show you that you won't have to regret it. Anything I can do for you, please, don't hesitate to ask me. Alright?"

I look at her with eyes that really try to convey the sincerity of my little speech, and I hear her catch her breath. She slowly slips her hand out of my grasp and pulls off her sunglasses to look up at me with that warm, brown gaze that make me feel the need to catch a breath of my own. What is it about this woman that affects me so? She looks at me, then away, and says in a low voice.

"It's really not much, Edward, but I'm glad you think so. It will be nice to have someone around for a change, and I'm sure I will need your help with one or two things, if you have the time while you're here."

She walks quickly ahead of me before I can reply, and I feel the first drops of rain on my cheek, see them flecking the stairs where we stand, like tears. There's been enough tears, I think to myself. Maybe it's time for something other than tears.

* * *

**A/N: Oooo, so Kate hired Edward, and Bella is letting Edward move in! Would you? Things are looking up for our boy! Are you prepared to help him out with a review?**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:I don't have a beta, so all the mistakes are mine. Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff.**

**Chapter 5**

_I don't mind it, I don't mind at all_

_It's like you're the swing set and I'm the kid that falls_

_It's like the way we fight, sometimes I cry_

_We come to blows and every night _

_The passion's there, so it's got to be right, right?_

_No, I don't believe you when you say _

"_Don't come around here no more"_

_I won't remind you, you said we wouldn't be apart_

_I don't mind it, I still don't mind at all_

_It's like one of those bad dreams_

_Where you can't wake up_

_It looks like you've had enough, you've given up_

_But I want more, no, I won't stop_

_Cause I just know you'll come around, right?_

_No, I don't believe you when you say _

"_Don't come around here no more"_

_I won't remind you, you said we wouldn't be apart_

_No I don't believe you when you say you don't need me anymore._

_So don't pretend to not love me at all_

_Just don't stand there and watch me fall_

Pink: I Don't Believe You_._

**BPOV**

He is standing at the door to the kitchen with a drink in his hand. I hear the ice cubes clinking as he slowly swirls the whiskey around, but his eyes never leave me. I swallow hard as I try to straighten my back, waiting for him to speak, mentally preparing myself for the next lashing. What will it be this time, I wonder? My selfishness, failing him, failing to be the wife he needs me to be – again. My academic failure, my amateurish attempts at being a scholar, only deserving of contempt, of ridicule. My looks, the way I've let myself go, my frumpiness, my middle-aged librarian look that according to my husband is the only thing I can pull off these days.

"Really, Isabella, is there nothing you have to say to me?" James sneers.

"You used to always have a witty comeback or dazzle new acquaintances with your conversation skills, but now I find that even the power of speech seems to elude you. I sincerely hope that your students don't have to put up with this introvert behavior on your teaching time or the rumour might start going around college that you're losing your mind. Are you losing your mind, Isabella?"

Maybe I am losing my mind, I think. I only hope that I won't start crying tonight, because I have noticed that this provokes him even more, seems to make him even more cruel.

"Anyway, it hardly matters anymore," he continues, pushing away from the doorframe and slowly, sinuously starts stalking towards me, navigating the furniture of our spacious living room.

The wall to wall windows are black against the night outside, and suddenly I wish that we weren't alone in the house. I don't trust him anymore, and I get that panicky feeling again, that he might suddenly become violent, that his anger and frustration at me might drive him over the brink from verbal to physical abuse.

I try to keep the sofa between us, but it is as if he senses this, and in a flash he is around it and puts a hand on my arm, steering me towards an arm chair. I wince, since his grip is unnecessarily hard.

"Please, James, you're hurting me," I say, trying to keep my voice calm and level, not whiny.

He gives me a push, and I sit down abruptly.

"Don't worry, Isabella, I'm not going to hurt you. If anything, this marriage has hurt me more than anyone, and that is why I've decided it has to come to an end, right now."

He sits down across from me, putting his glass down on the low glass table between us, and letting his long arm trail across the back of the cream-coloured sofa. His eyes are black as he looks at me and I am struggling to make sense of what he is saying.

"You think I have hurt you, James", I say, baffled. "How? I have always done what you wanted, always put you first, because that's what we decided when we got married. I know that your career, what you do, is much more important, but I think I have showed again and again that I am willing to do everything I can to support you and help you…"

He is holding up a hand, looking bored.

"Please, Isabella, save the speeches for the courtroom. I am filing for a divorce, and I would like you to move out of this house as soon as possible. I am fed up with having you as a dead albatross tied around my neck."

Now his eyes are boring into me and I can feel the coldness emanating from him, almost physically.

"I am sick of you, sick of your intellectual pretentiousness, of your physical sloth, your complete disregard of social standards and I think you are a sad failure as a wife, a woman and a mother. I have put up with you for this long out of a feeling of obligation, but I think you should know that I married you mainly out of pity, and that I have long since regretted letting my tender feelings and your pitiful way of making doe eyes at me weigh me down with a liability for a life partner." His lips curl, and there is a subdued rage in his voice that I can't comprehend.

"You disgust me in every possible way, which should be clear to you since I haven't shared a bed with you in the past twelve months. I want this marriage to be over as soon as possible, and I want you out of my life so that I can get some peace of mind again. I have booked myself a hotel room tonight, but I suggest that you pack your things and move out tomorrow, since I will need the house for the Christmas party in two weeks."

He stands up, looking down at me with a withering look of contempt.

"Is that clear, Isabella? I want you out of the house as of tomorrow. Leave a forwarding address with my secretary. My lawyers will contact you. Goodbye."

He moves quickly across the room, towards the hall and I watch his receding back, the blond hair, the impeccable back in a tailored light grey suit, always impossible to find fault with. Always perfect. My perfect James. No longer mine.

I try to stand up, I wobble, I sit down. I feel tears running down my cheeks, but I don't know why I am crying. Is it relief, regret, anguish, fear? My sobs start wracking my chest and hurting my stomach, and I hear myself wailing in a voice I have never heard before. There's a thumping in my ears now, and I don't know if it's my heart or someone working on the house, maybe redecorating again. The thumping is louder. There must be someone at the door..and suddenly I open my eyes and look at the darkness of my bedroom. I can hear myself still wailing, and the thumping is on my bedroom door. Someone is there, a concerned voice crying "Bella? Bella, please answer me! Bella! Are you alright?"

I struggle to start breathing normally, to disentangle myself from my sheets, and I stumble towards the door, still sobbing. It's Edward. Of course. I should have warned him that there's a reason why I am living in this house alone, far away from neighbours. I forgot to tell him that I have nightmares. I fumble with the lock on my bedroom door, and reach for the light switch. The door swings inwards and Edward almost stumbles into the room, his hand still held high. I back away from him as he regains balance, while I am drawing rasping breaths and trying to form coherent sentences.

"I'm sorry, Edward, so sorry about this. It's only, only a dream..I have nightmares. I'm sorry, I should have warned you, I'm sorry…"

He puts a hand carefully on my shoulder, looking closely at my face, which I realize now must be red and puffy, probably swollen from a mixture of crying and sleep. Self-consciously, I look down at my feet, and force myself to draw long, slow breaths.

"Are you sure you're alright?" he asks hesitantly, not letting go of my shoulder.

I have the sudden impulse to put my arms around his middle and bury my snotty nose in his t-shirt, which is temptingly close to my heated face. I refrain, and try to straighten up, clear my throat, act like a responsible adult instead of a four-year-old kid.

"Absolutely. There is nothing wrong with me. I just have these very vivid nightmares, and I forgot to tell you that I sometimes wake myself up with them. Obviously I wake other people up too, it's just that it's been so long now that I forgot that this would be a problem now that you are sleeping in the guest room." I try to smile, a shaky smile, but still a smile, as I look up at his serious face.

He pats my shoulder gently, before letting go of me. I miss his touch instantly.

"Would you like me to make you some tea, or do you want to try to go back to sleep right away?" His eyes are sincere and still look worried. Does he think that I am the mad woman in the attic now?

I shake my head. I just want to crawl back into my room, close the door and forget about this embarrassing moment.

"I'll be fine", I say. "I will try to get back to sleep now. Don't worry."

Edward nods, turns and slowly walks down the hall towards the guest room. I watch his receding back, so beautifully muscled beneath the thin white t-shirt. Perfect, in a very different way from my perfect ex-husband. I shudder at the memory of the dream. Why do I have to remember everything so vividly in my dreams, when I am defenseless and can't turn my thoughts off? I close the door, turn the lock, turn the lights off and haul myself into bed. I wrap the comforter around me and hug one of my pillows, snuggling into it, secretly wishing that I was spooning with someone once again.

Edward looked so upset when he burst into the room, I almost wish I had let him make me some tea. We could have stayed up and listened to some music and talked..but then I remember that he is starting his new job at dawn and really needs his sleep. I huff to myself, and resolutely draw deep, calming breaths like my therapist taught me. I will need my sleep too, if I am going to get up early and see him off. I drift off to sleep with a smile on my lips. Why can't I dream of someone nice for a change?

When my alarm goes off at 4.30 I sleepwalk to the bathroom and splash my face with cold water, trying to purge myself of all memories of last night's dream. My face is pale, and my eyes are puffy and I am ugly and look every bit my age. I sigh. Yes, James was right about this if about nothing else, I am ugly and old and I can understand why he would prefer to have someone young and attractive on his arm when he goes to his big socialite parties and when he entertains at home. Someone not only beautiful but socially at ease, who can complement him and get his important guests in a good mood, laughing at their jokes and making easy conversation.

I was never any good at it, fighting hard to think about posture, smiles, forcing myself to make conversation and try to get in the good graces of people I felt I had absolutely nothing in common with. I tried, I really did, but James never hesitated to tell me when he saw that I was failing, again. I shudder, and mentally push the images and memories out of my mind.

I put some moisturizer on my face and neck, brush my teeth, then wrap myself in my comfortable, overlarge terrycloth robe and shuffle out to the kitchen where I find Edward sitting at the table, dressed in the blue t-shirt I lent him and his jeans, eating cereal and milk, while the smell of coffee floats enticingly through the air. He smiles and starts to get up, but I wave my hand at him.

"Don't move! I am perfectly able to get myself something."

I put the electric kettle on and get out my favourite tea mug and a bag of Earl Grey tea. While the water is heating up I get an apple from the fruit bowl on the counter and move to sit across from Edward. The apple tastes funny with the traces of tooth paste still in my mouth, and I realize that I only brushed my teeth because I didn't want to meet Edward with morning breath. Silly Bella. As if he would care, or even get close enough to notice.

"So how do you feel about going to work?" I ask.

He looks a little pale, but as beautiful as ever, and smirks at me.

"Honestly? I feel like the first day of school all over again." He sighs and looks down at his now empty bowl of cereal. "I really don't want to mess this up. Kate seems like a nice lady." He hesitates, then looks at me straight on.

"I have to ask you something, Bella, but you can tell me it's none of my business if you like. Do you have nightmares like that one every night?"

I feel myself blushing, and I swallow the bite of apple in my mouth, feeling my throat tightening. I try to clear my throat of the threatening tears, breathe slowly, and let my hands play with the rest of the apple so I won't have to look him in the eye.

"I have had these nightmares pretty often, yes, but they are not all as bad as last night. It's just…I am kind of sitting out a life crisis here, and sometimes the wrong kind of memories come back to haunt me. It's not as bad as it must sound, I promise you. It's just that, in my sleep, I am more vulnerable, and everything I experience then feels much worse. Once I wake up, I can handle it. Don't worry."

He seems to contemplate this, then nods, runs his hand through his hair and stands up, moving over to the sink to put his bowl in the dishwasher.

"Do you plan to go running at first light?" He turns back to look at me, and his eyebrows are knitted in a way that makes me think of my father, when he asked me if I was going out on a Friday night.

I nod, and chew on my apple, waiting for him to continue.

He hesitates visibly, then says. "Look, I really wish you wouldn't go running at sunrise, when there are so few people around. It's not safe. What if someone attacked you? There are all sorts of people sleeping on the beach, and most of them are not safe to be around. Trust me, I know!"

I can't help smiling at him, and I move over to get my cup of tea from the counter.

"Really, Edward, that is so sweet of you, but I've been doing this for months now, and nothing even remotely dangerous has ever happened. I like the beach in the mornings, before it gets…crowded. I don't know if you've noticed, but I don't feel …comfortable around lots of people. And I really enjoy running on my own. I promise you I look out for myself and I will continue to steer clear of any situations or people that seem threatening. OK?"

He sighs again, and looks down, defeated.

"Would you at least get a can of pepper spray and carry it with you?" he pleads now, looking at me from under his lashes in a way that gives me a funny feeling as if my insides were melting in the most unexpected way.

"What? Well, I could, but really, I am sure that if someone attacked me they would probably end up using that same pepper spray against me. I am really quite clumsy, Edward, you have to make allowances for that." I give his upper arm a gentle pat and move over to the table again.

"Well, in that case, I will get going", he says. "Will you be here in the afternoon when I get back?"

I turn around, because now I remember one of the reasons I wanted to see him off in the morning.

"Hey, yes, I'm sure I will be, but just in case I wanted you to have this spare key, so you can let yourself in and won't have to wait around for me."

I go over to the kitchen drawer where I keep all the important stuff about the house and phone numbers that Rosalie said I might need while staying here, and take out the spare key. It's attached to a key chain with an enamel red apple on the end, and I walk over to Edward and press it into his hand. He looks surprised.

"Are you sure about this?" he asks me, looking down at the key in his palm as if it was something alien. "You don't have to give me a key, you know. I would be fine waiting around if you weren't here when I got back. Don't you think that this is too..I don't know, too soon?"

Now I almost have to laugh at his lost and doubtful expression.

"Darn it, Edward, what do you mean "too soon"? I'm not asking you to wear my club pin or anything, it's just a convenience. If you are going to be staying here it won't work out if you don't have your own key. I might need you to go grocery shopping or something on your own, and then I want you to be able to haul the stuff in."

"Of course. I could do that." He lights up. "Please tell me what kind of work you would like me to do around the house", he says. "And as soon as I get my first paycheck I am paying you rent."

I cringe at this. "No, no, I want you to save your money for stuff you really need, Edward. Rent is neither here nor there."

When I see his brow clouding over again, I quickly add. "But of course you can chip in for groceries, that would be excellent. We can talk more about that tonight. Now you should probably get going."

I pretty much shoo him out of the kitchen, then sit down nursing my cup and look out of the window at the still dark grey sky. I will go for a run later and then stop by the café to get some breakfast. Maybe I will eat it at the café this time. Maybe I will catch a glimpse of Edward working when I get there…maybe. And I should get him some more clothes, he will need another change of clothes he can wear to work. That is another thing to look forward to, today. I smile into my teacup.

**A/N: Ahem, so what did you think of Bella's husband? *hiding behind couch* And here Bella's already gone and given Edward the key to her heart…oops, I mean her house. Is it too soon, do you think? How long did it take you to invite your significant other to share your living quarters? Please tell Edward in a review – he's right here, looking hopeful.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:I don't have a beta, so all the mistakes are mine. Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. (OBS! Next weekend's update might be late since I will be out of town and computerless...just so you don't think I've bailed on you.)**

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**Chapter 6**

_Sometimes is never quite enough_

_If you're flawless, then you're in my love_

_Don't forget to win first place_

_Don't forget to keep that smile on your face_

_Be a good boy, try a little harder_

_You've got to measure up_

_Make me prouder_

_How long before you screw it up?_

_And how many times do I have to tell you to hurry up?_

_With everything I do for you_

_The least you can do is keep quiet_

_Be a good girl, try a little harder_

_That simply wasn't good enough_

_To make us proud_

Alanis Morisette: Perfect

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**EPOV**

When I get to the café I am ten minutes early, but shortly Carmen rolls in, parking her beat-up Mercedes in the employee parking lot. She looks really cool, in a worn black jacket and black jeans and she has a big smile for me even at this ungodly hour in the morning. Working with her turns out to be a pleasure. She is calm, to the point and good at giving instructions, and I quickly wipe down the floor and set out the chairs while she gets things going in the kitchen. Once we open up it's not half an hour before people are coming and going and soon the cook is flipping eggs and pancakes in the kitchen, and I have my hands full handling the dishwasher, running with plates, checking the coffee machine and wiping down the tables and counters.

Sometime around seven I catch a glimpse of Bella reading a newspaper and sipping a cup of tea in the corner, in her sweats, but I'm not sure if she sees me, and when I am no longer busy and come by to talk to her, she is gone.

I think back to what happened last night. I woke up to the sound of her screaming, and I was immediately on my feet, completely freaked out, thinking that she had been attacked by a burglar or something. With her door locked all I could do was pound on it, more and more convinced that something was seriously wrong, that she must be sick, or even dying, those wailing screams and sobs sounded scary and heartbreaking at the same time.

I was so relieved when she finally opened the door, and I could see that she was really okay. Not okay, precisely, still choking and sobbing, getting back to reality from a really bad dream, but alive and not sick. I wanted to scoop her up in my arms, hug her like a child, like I used to hug Alice, but I knew that this wasn't such a great idea. Bella is no child, and I am not her brother, not family, not even a friend. But I patted her shoulder in a lame way, to show her that I was still there for her, and offered to make her some tea.

That's what my mother used to do when we had bad dreams, sit with us, give us something warm to drink, until we calmed down and everything felt normal again. How I wish everything could just go back to _normal_ again. I sigh and pick up the mop again, to take care of the kitchen floor. Whatever could have happened to Bella to give her such awful nightmares?

When the lunch hour is through, business slacks off and I get time to have my belated lunch break. Kate invites me to bring my sandwich into her office and she lets me have a look at the computer accounting program that she says has been giving her hell. I am lucky. It's something I think I can figure out, and I tell her this, so she leaves me alone for an hour to fiddle with it.

My problem has always been that I am good at everything; languages, music, sports, science, math, which has left me clueless as to what I should really be doing with my life. Numbers fascinate me though and I had been toying with the idea of business school as an alternative to pre-med after high school, and I know that Carlisle and Esmee would probably have supported either choice. But now I will probably never find out which schools were actually willing to accept me, and I feel a hint of self-pity at the turn my life has taken.

I push that thought from my mind and mentally lash myself; I should be feeling fortunate to be alive right now. Some people are fucking _dead_ because of me, they are not so lucky. Even if I end up spending my life wiping down counters, it's probably more than I deserve. I feel a headache coming on as I finish up my first day, cleaning and stacking the fridge and hauling out the garbage. Kate lets me off at 3 PM and tells me that I can keep this schedule the first week. Sunday will be my day off.

"You did good, kiddo," she says, and her sky blue eyes smile at me encouragingly. "See you tomorrow!"

When I reach Bella's house I feel suddenly weary, but it doesn't feel right somehow to just let myself in with the spare key she gave me, so I use the door bell and wait, until I hear her footfalls inside, and the door opens. I can't help smiling, since it feels so good to see her again. She smiles back at me, and her smile just lights up her face, and makes me wonder what I can do to see this beautiful sight more often. Her hair is up in a ponytail now and she is simply dressed in a black t-shirt and faded jeans that are slightly too big for her, and are held up by a battered leather belt. I wonder for a moment if she has been ill and lost some weight, since all her clothes seem too big on her, as if they belonged to someone else.

"Come in. How was your first day?"

"Fine." I can't help making a pained face, and add: "But I have developed a really bad headache, so if you don't mind, I would like to take a shower and just lie down for a short while before we do anything else. Is that okay?"

Bella looks concerned, and nods.

"Sure. You didn't get much sleep last night, what with all my noise, you will probably feel better if you take a nap. I'll get you some Tylenol and later we can go grocery shopping together, if you feel up to it?"

She bites her lower lip in that unconscious gesture that is borderline timid and borderline sexy, stands weighing on the balls of her feet a moment, and then abruptly disappears in the direction of her bedroom.

I drag my tired ass into the guest bedroom and stop when I see a pile of clothing on the bed. The prize tags are still on them, they are not super expensive but clearly good quality brands and not exactly cheap either: there is a pair of jeans, a pair of chinos, two long-sleeved shirts, a couple of polo shirts and a pair of shorts, socks, t-shirts and underwear. And a really nice, green sweater. Did she get these for me? I am baffled. I check the sizes, and they all seem exactly right, which surprises me even more. How could she guess my size? I go into the bathroom, still trying to wrap my head around the idea of Bella spending her afternoon clothes shopping for me.

When I come out again, with a wet towel wrapped around my waist, there is a glass of water and two Tylenol on the bedside table. I quickly dress in a clean t-shirt and boxers and put the new clothes away in the drawer by the wall before I take the painkillers and draw the curtains to try and take a nap. My head is pounding, but slowly I feel the pain slipping away as I drift into a light sleep. I can't believe this is happening…maybe Bella is my fairy godmother?

_I am lying in a bed in a darkened room and I am listening to female voices outside the door. One is mummy and the other is Mesme, who smells nice and has nice, cool hands. They are angry, I think, but they are trying to not make any noise because they think I am sleeping. Mesme is saying that she wants to take me home with her. Mummy is upset. I don't like it when mummy is upset. If she starts crying again I am going to hide in the closet and take my pillow with me, to drown out the sound._

"_Take him, then", she is hissing at Mesme. "He never brought me anything but disappointment and pain. You know nothing. Nothing! You only see him as your little angel – you have no children of your own. What do you know of a mother's pain?" _

_Now she is beginning to cry, that low, wailing sound, and I crawl out of bed and run to the closet. I don't want to hear anymore. The darkness closes in around me, and I press my pillow so tightly against my head that I feel like I'm suffocating._

When I drift back to consciousness I still faintly hear female voices outside my door, and for a moment I feel sick, not knowing if I am still dreaming or not. But this is Bella's voice I hear, and she isn't crying, although she sounds upset.

"Rose, I am grateful for your support, but really, you are outrageous. Please keep out of this. No, just keep out of it! I don't want to talk about this anymore, okay? I have to go now. Yes, I will see you on Friday. No, don't do that, do you hear me! I don't have time for this. See you Friday. Bye!" I hear her moving away, and dishes slam in the kitchen.

I get up, pull on my jeans and sneak out to the bathroom to splash my face with cold water, and when I am wiping my face I hear Bella's knock at the door.

"Edward? Are you awake?"

I hurry to the door and open it wide, and she looks up at me, blushing when she notices that I am wearing some of the clothes she left for me. I love how that blush creeps up across her smooth, white skin and blooms on her cheeks.

"So, they fit? Good. I thought you might need a change of clothes now that you're working. I mean, until you get your first paycheck, you know?" She sounds a bit breathless, and her eyes are worried. She doesn't think I'm mad, does she?

I shake my head. "Bella, this is way too much, but since I do need clothes I'm not going to argue with you about it. Just, I will pay you back, you know, as soon as I can. Okay?"

She is holding a cup of coffee in her one hand and her cell phone in the other, and now she nods at the mug and holds it up to me.

"How are you feeling? How is your headache? Do you want some coffee – I just made it?"

I take the mug from her and follow her to the kitchen, enjoying the aroma of the black coffee as much as the view of her silky pony tail, swishing from one side to the other, and the swing of her hips as she is walking in front of me. If she looks amazing dressed casual like this, imagine what she would look like in a short skirt and heels? I shake my head and concentrate on the hot coffee.

She is picking up a ceramic mug from the counter and leans against it, sipping on her coffee. I realize that she is waiting for an answer from me.

"Oh, the headache is gone, thanks for the Tylenol," I say, mentally kicking myself for not thanking her sooner for her caring gesture. "I am all set to go now, if you wanted me to help you out?"

I sip my coffee, and then I remember what I wanted to ask her.

"Hey, how did you know what size I wear? You got it perfectly right!"

Her expression darkens, but then she looks up with a wry face and says: "I used to do clothes shopping for my husband, so I got a lot of practice judging sizes and how clothes fit the male frame. He was..kind of picky, but he didn't have a lot of time for stuff like that, so it was either me or his secretary. And he preferred if it was me. He needed her more for other things, around the office, you know."

Suddenly her face is really red, and she coughs a little. "God, I didn't mean for that to sound like he was, you know, doing his secretary or anything. It was nothing like that."

I smile a little at her discomfort, but secretly I think that her husband sounds like a first-class douchebag, dictating to her, having his wife run his errands for him like she was staff.

"I take it you're not still with him?" I ask. I haven't seen a wedding band on her finger, but I still have to ask.

"No. No, we were divorced several months ago."

I would have expected her to sound elated about this fact, but she looks subdued. Maybe she still loves him, the asshole. I have never understood why some women still fall for the worst kind of men, and allow the creeps to walk all over them. Or maybe he was really nice and the marriage fell apart anyway. Who am I to tell? Maybe it's a crappy childhood that haunts Bella's dreams, and not her ex-husband. But I have a hunch that it's this asshole husband that is the reason why Bella is holed up here all alone and barely making it through the night, and I would really like to know a bit more about him. I feel my fingers clutching the coffee mug too tightly, and loosen up, stretching my fingers and putting the mug down on the counter.

"Should we get going?"

As we get in the car to drive to the supermarket I notice that Bella is hiding again, leaving the house only when firmly anchored behind sunglasses and clutching her black hood.

Bella has a nice car, a silver Volvo, and she is a good driver. I am a fairly competent driver myself, but I am not going to risk being waved down by the police, unable to produce my license, so I make no attempt to ask Bella to drive the car. I wonder if she thinks this is unmanly of me, and I shift nervously in my seat at the thought. No, it would probably seem presumptuous if I assumed I would get to drive her nice car just because I have a pair of balls and she doesn't. Very male chauvinist pig - and now I am smiling to myself.

I notice Bella peeking over at me and smiling. I really love that smile. I only wish I could see her beautiful eyes too behind the sunglasses, but I won't ask her to take them off. She clearly has a thing about privacy. Hmm, I wonder if maybe she is someone famous that I just never heard about, maybe a bestseller writer or a star cook on the Food Network?

I enjoy the relaxed silence in the car, and the music playing softly on Bella's iPod, and I take the opportunity to look at her when her attention is fixed on traffic. She has beautiful, slender hands, and I enjoy looking at her arms, now that she has slipped out of her hood, where tiny muscles are flexing as she moves them with the wheel. In the v-neck of her t-shirt I can make out her collarbones, delicate beneath the sweep of her neck. She has a swan's neck, graceful and long, and her ear is like an intricate shell nestled in her dark hair, dark brown with fine strands of silver in it.

She has lovely skin, pale and almost translucent, but with tiny freckles across the nose, like a dusting of gold. There are laugh lines etched permanently on one side of her mouth, bearing witness to that lopsided smile I already miss. Beneath the t-shirt I can see the outline of her breasts, and although the material isn't tight enough to show the shadow of her nipples, I suddenly start to feel uncomfortably tight in my new trousers. Change of subject, look out the window, Cullen. She doesn't need to be weirded out by having a horny guy in her car.

When we pull in to the parking lot of the mall I look around at my surroundings. This seems like a nice place, smaller than the average mall, not so crowded, good looking cars and well kept flower beds in reds and white, trees that shade the parked cars, somehow there's an alternative feel to it. Bella looks over at me and gives me a shy smile.

" I like to come here, they have a lot of good, local grown, organic produce. I hope you don't mind if we do like the week's shopping all at once, it saves me a lot of…time." Her voice trails off, and the corners of her mouth turn down slightly. Her mood swings so quickly, I just wish I knew what was going through that mind of hers.

Then I hurry to get out of the car so that I can open her door, and I just manage to beat her to it this time. She looks surprised, but in a good way, so I guess that this is alright. I smile my most convincing smile, and see that telltale blush creep up over her neck and her cheeks. I kind of enjoy it now, since it seems to mean that I have an effect on her too.

She walks briskly ahead of me into the small mall, past the stores with clothes and beauty products to the supermarket _Oh, it's organic!_ at the far side. I pick up a trolley and follow her into the aisles, between small mountains of apples, leeks, melons, sweet potatoes and stuff I've never seen before. Bella seems to be ticking things off a list inside her head and is weighing and piling vegetables and fruit into the cart, before she gives me a sign to follow her and then it's organic yoghurt and cheese, soy milk, tofu, free range eggs, fiber granola and rye bread. Very healthy. She looks up at me quizzically.

"What do you like to eat, Edward," she asks me. "Do you see anything you like? Would you like a steak for dinner ? Or do you like fish?"

I shrug. I am not picky, never have been, and these last weeks have taught me that a lot of things are edible that I didn't know of before, even if they are unappetizing.

"Anything is fine. I'll have whatever you're having, Bella. Would you like me to cook for you? I am kind of limited in my culinary expertise, but I can make a mean pasta?"

Bella is blushing again. She looks to the side, not meeting my eyes and says:

"I'm on a…special diet. I'm a vegetarian, and I don't eat much in the evenings, so I thought it would be nice if you decided what you wanted for dinner yourself. I'm not much good at cooking meat, but I could manage a steak if you want meat for dinner." She hesitates. "Or if you want to cook something for yourself, that is perfectly fine too. Just tell me what you think we should buy?"

I smile to myself. "Bella, I could probably live on tofu if that's what you're having. Why don't we make pasta with a tomato sauce, and a salad? You can eat as much or as little as you like of it, but once you've tasted my pasta I'm pretty sure I'll be fighting to keep some for myself. Do you have any parmesan cheese in the fridge?"

She lightens up and raises her eyebrow to me with a slow lopsided smile, and I know my cocky little speech has shaken her out of whatever uncomfortable place she was getting herself into. We browse through the counters of fresh produce, and load up with some fresh pasta and different kinds of cheese. Bella mumbles something about making her own garlic bread, and gets some yeast and flour, and then we drift back towards the exit, stopping by the vegetables again.

I watch the graceful movements of her hands when she caresses the apples and lift the onions to her face, gently sniffing them to see if they are okay. I wish I could have her lips that close to my face, I wish I could draw in her scent as unashamedly, I wish that my hands were caressing her bare skin the way she…oh, no Cullen, you really have to stop this line of thinking. I turn around, aroused and uncomfortable, and absentmindedly finger some cantaloupe melons, the rough texture under my fingers only serving as a reminder of how smooth Bella's skin would be if..

"Bella? Oh my God, is it really you? Bella, what a wonderful surprise to run into you like this! What are you doing here? Wait, did you lose weight – you look different? Not our usual mousy Bella at all! What's with the all-black outfit, did somebody die? Didn't you notice we've been having wonderful May weather?"

I turn around abruptly and see a tall, strawberry blonde walking up to Bella and wrapping her in smooth, sun-kissed arms. She is a lot taller than Bella, but then she is walking on staggeringly high designer heels, smartly dressed in city shorts and a sleeveless blouse with huge sunglasses in her hair and a designer handbag carelessly slung over her shoulder. Everything about her screams that she wouldn't normally be caught dead shopping for groceries, so the question is what is she doing here?

I look at Bella, and my heart sinks. She is pale and her eyes are huge and wild: oh, no is she having a panic attack? I fight the impulse to walk up and put my arms around her and whisk her away to the car – I am unsure if Bella even wants to acknowledge my presence here with her. But then she turns her body towards me, and a small helpless gesture of her hand makes me know that she needs me right there, closer, within touching distance, and I go to her and put my hand out to circle her wrist. The touch seems to calm her, just as it calms me, in spite of the tingle I always seem to feel in her close proximity.

Now the strawberry blonde's attention is all on me, and I watch impassively as I see the same old familiar reaction going on behind her eyes. Her eyebrows arch, and a speculative smile creeps across her beautiful, painted lips. She is perfectly made up and groomed, and her tawny, almond-shaped eyes are burning with curiosity and a hint of desire. It's pretty clear to me that she sees me only as an attractive specimen, and she stands up straighter and juts her breasts out in my direction to make her point, that she is an attractive specimen too. Well, baby, beauty is only skin deep, I think again, and smile my bitter little smile, more to myself then to her. But she takes it as encouragement, and her smile is wider when she turns to Bella and says:

"Why don't you introduce me to your friend, Bella? Is this the reason you've been hiding out for months and taken a sabbatical from work? I heard you were going to write the definitive feminist text book on Shakespeare, but maybe my source was mistaken?" Her smile is vulpine now, and I see Bella giving a small shudder. This isn't helping. I stretch out my hand and give the blonde a firm handshake before dropping her hand like it's garbage I don't want to touch.

"Hello, I'm Edward. I'm just visiting, and right now we're grocery shopping as you can see, and kind of pressed for time, but maybe you want me to go ahead, Bella, if you've got some catching up to do with…?" I look pointedly in the blonde's direction.

"Tanya." Bella suddenly comes to life. "This is Tanya Denali, a former colleague of mine, and this is Edward Masen, who is visiting, and we really are pressed for time, so I am sorry if I can't stand around chatting with you right now, Tanya. I will see you next semester I am sure, when my sabbatical is over and my book is done. So nice to see you, but we really must run now."

And run is pretty much what we do, me pushing the shopping cart after Bella's rapidly fleeing form, leaving the blonde standing among the peaches with her mouth hanging open. We are through the check-out line in record time, and before I know it I am loading the trunk while Bella is sitting in the front seat, fumbling with the keys. As I slide in beside her, I notice that there is a slight tremor in her hands, and I reach out and put my hand over her small one.

"Are you okay, Bella? Do you want me to drive?" I see a small bead of perspiration has formed on her forehead, right between her perfect eyebrows, and before I can think I raise my hand and gently wipe it off with my thumb. I let the back of my hand slowly trace the outline of her cheek and jawline before dropping into my lap, and I draw a deep breath to steady myself. Now it is my hands that are trembling.

Bella lets her pale face sink into her hands, and for a moment I think that she is about to cry, but then she raises her head and looks straight at me, and her eyes are the deepest, darkest brown I have ever seen, and right now she is easily the most desirable woman I have ever met.

"Edward, thank you for rescuing me back there. Tanya is, well, she is a former colleague of mine and she can be pretty..overwhelming. I really wasn't expecting to see her or anyone I know from home right now, so I was kind of bowled over there for a moment. Thank you for not freaking out on me – I promise I will try to keep it together and be more polite the next time something like that happens."

She turns around and starts the car, and carefully backs us out and turns out of the parking lot into the early evening traffic.

I feel confused. "Bella, you have nothing to apologize for. I could tell that this woman was making you uncomfortable, and that her behavior to you was inappropriate. I just wasn't sure if you wanted her to know that I was there with you or not. You don't have to introduce me to your friends, Bella, especially not if it makes you uncomfortable. I don't feel the need to make an impression on people like Tanya – it's perfectly alright for me to take a walk and avoid introductions."

I can see that Bella's mouth is setting into a hard line, and I assume that now I've said something to upset her - again. I run my hand through my hair, exasperated. Why don't I get this woman?

"Edward, I have absolutely no problem with introducing you to any of my friends. It's more that Tanya isn't a friend, and as you pointed out, she makes me uncomfortable. I don't want you to be put in a spot where she fawns all over you to get information out of you and then suddenly turns around and lashes out at you for not giving her what she wants. She may be beautiful and smart, but she is also very unpredictable, and I really don't trust her. We were colleagues but we never worked well together. I think she is catty, and she thinks I'm mousy, and maybe that's why we don't go well together."

I throw my head back and laugh, with some relief. "Oh, Bella, you make it sound like she could eat you up, but I'm sure it's quite the other way around."

More serious, I turn so that I am half-way facing her. "Bella, you do know that you are not anything like "mousy" don't you? I know women like Tanya: they are all about physical appearances, making an impression on others and judging people by their looks. I bet she has said some catty things to you in the past, tried to belittle you and make you feel inadequate, right?"

By Bella's telltale blush, I know I am not far off the mark. Damn that Denali woman!

"Well, know this, Bella: she is wrong. Apart from the fact that she is probably completely intimidated by you professionally and fighting you with her catty claws just to make herself forget that fact, she couldn't be more wrong about you being mousy. Just look at you. Simply dressed, no make up, no attempt at making an impression: you are just being you. And you could blow Tanya right out of the water, without even trying."

Bella is blushing furiously now, and I could swear that her eyes are tearing up, so I continue.

"You've got perfect skin, beautiful eyes, silky soft hair that any woman would kill for, and this graceful way of moving.."

"Edward, please stop!" Bella's voice is choked with emotion. "Please, just…stop. You don't have to say any of those things, I don't, I don't _want_ you to say them. Please don't!"

I am taken aback and slump back in my seat, hurt and confused. Then I realize that I was probably overstepping a boundary, making personal comments on Bella's looks. Oh, man, now she will think I am either lusting after her body – which I am, but I don't want her to think that – or sucking up to her by saying things just to make her like me. Not good, Cullen. Apologize.

"Bella, I'm sorry if you think that any part of what I just said was inappropriate. I don't want to hurt your feelings, quite the opposite. I don't want to watch people like that woman trying to intimidate you. I want you to see yourself more clearly. That's all. Please forget anything I said that made you feel uncomfortable. But please try to accept the intentions behind it, will you?"

We are both silent the rest of the ride home.

* * *

**A/N: So the plot thickens. What's going on with Edward? And what's Tanya's problem? Why doesn't Bella know how to smile and take a compliment? (Be honest now: Do you?) Oh, is Edward sulking now…? *sigh* Please help these complicated people out with a review!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:I don't have a beta, so all the mistakes are mine. Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. Sorry about the late update; been stuck in the mountains without a computer...  
**

* * *

**Chapter 7 **

_Nothing looks quite the same._

_I see people and places in a new light again. _

_There's a grace ascendant to a broken sky. _

_Now I know there's a reason why I feel so alive. _

_Cause tonight there's a new love in town, _

_waking emotions I thought I'd never find. _

_Yes tonight, how you turn it around._

_I want to tell the whole world there's a new love in town._

_It's been a strange kind of low._

_Always held my head up high. Little did I know,_

_that my rose-tinted reality would soon fall apart._

_Just by holding you gently there's a hope in my heart. I'm out of the dark. _

_So tonight there's a new love in town, _

_waking emotions I thought I'd never find. _

_Yes tonight, how you turn it around._

_I want to tell the whole world there's a new love in town._

_And everyone I've met has made me what I am today. _

_And every choice I've made has led me here today. _

_And every time I see your face I find my way. _

_Yes tonight there's a new love in town, _

_it's waking emotions I never thought I'd find. _

_Yes tonight, how you turn it around._

_I want to tell the whole world there's a new love in town._

Europe: New Love in Town

* * *

**BPOV**

I excuse myself and leave Edward to unpack the groceries, slipping off to close the door to my bedroom, leaning heavily against it, softly beating the back of my head against the wood. The tiny thuds echo through my brain, as if I could beat the memory of this day out of it. Then I remember this morning and smile to myself. No, it hasn't been all bad. I sigh and cross the room to lay down on the bed, and flip over to look up at the ceiling with my arm flung over my head against the wrought iron headbord decorated with swirls and iron roses. The white cotton crocheted spread feels rough under my skin, but suddenly I am hot, and impatiently I rise to get rid of my warm clothes, slipping into a white tank top and a pair of thin cotton shorts before I return to lie on the bed again.

This morning I stopped and had my breakfast at the café for a change, hiding behind a newspaper, and watching surreptitiously for Edward. I caught a glimpse of him behind the counter, restocking the clean coffee cups, smiling and speaking to the woman at the cash register. He is so beautiful that I still feel I have to catch my breath each time I see him again, his reddish brown hair in unruly waves across his forehead, those big, beautiful green eyes, that perfect chiseled face with the delicious red lips, tall and lanky with sculpted shoulders and large, deftly moving hands. I swallow now, just thinking about it.

And I remember the small twinge of jealousy I felt when the tall, attractive waitress laughed and playfully swatted his arm before he returned to the kitchen. Yes, she sees it too – everyone can see what a beautiful, wonderful, caring man he is. And it must only be a question of time before someone else will snap him up. I sigh and shift, feeling the rough texture beneath me slide under my bare legs and feet. I feel hot, but it's got nothing to do with the weather. No, this is all Edward.

Tanya could feel it too, I could tell. She gets this predator look about her when she sees something she likes, someone she wants. She got that look around James, the few times they met, and I could tell by his cold smile that he noticed it too. Not that it got her anywhere with him: he thought much too highly of himself to take the time to dally with an English professor, even if she had legs as long as the Golden gate bridge and tits to top that off. No, James was content to know that he had made an impression on every woman in the room, he didn't need them to bolster his confidence anymore than he needed me. I feel myself tense up just thinking about him, and I quickly bring my mind back to that other tense encounter this afternoon.

Meeting Tanya like that was..awkward. Of course she knew I was on a sabbatical, but I had been careful about not telling any of my colleagues my whereabouts. The whole point of this self-imposed exile was to get some time to myself, to find a place where I could quietly freak out as much as need be, while I tried to finish my book and regroup. I didn't want the pressure of having to answer questions from well-meaning friends and colleagues about the divorce, about how I felt, about my plans for the future. First I had to convince myself that I had a future. Because the last couple of months I had been feeling as if my life had hit a dead end, with no exits anywhere in sight. I felt as if my life was over. And I had only turned forty. My eyes burn as I feel a ghost of that same despair touch me again, and I draw a deep breath.

And now, there is Edward. Edward who is at the same time a relief, a refuge and a problem. I feel safe with him, he grounds me in a way I don't understand, as he did just now in the store, when I was facing Tanya feeling as if the floor had just disappeared from under my feet. His touch was all I needed to get my breath back, and then he took the heat off from me by squarely staring Tanya down, in spite of her drooling all over him.

I marvel at this young man, how poised he is, at ease with everyone he meets, and how he can shift from funny and bantering to protective and mature in a flash. I already feel as if I need him with me all the time, and this is scaring me, partly because I don't really know him, and partly because he doesn't know me at all, and his need of me is obvious and straightforward, and I must handle it in a responsible way. I can't be another Tanya, drooling over him, seeing him as someone to take advantage of, when he is vulnerable and it would be easy to make him do just about anything to keep this precarious hold on life that my offering him shelter means. I must take care of him, and I must help him find his feet, and then I must let him go.

Now, there's another burn at the back of my throat, and I swallow convulsively thinking about not having Edward around anymore, not seeing his eyes, his cheekbones, that perfect jawline and the pale skin of his throat, no more catching glimpses of skin hinting at the secret places I have never touched, his chest, his stomach, his hips, his ass, his cock… I realize that my right hand has been slipping inside my shorts, touching myself, just thinking about him, and I roll over and press my face into one of the pillows, moaning quietly in equal amounts of shame and arousal.

This is so wrong, yet I can't help myself, and pressing conscious thought and good judgement aside, I use my fingers to bring myself to orgasm, for the first time in months without breaking off in frustration because my tears and my shame get the better of me. Now there is only the thought of one man overwhelming me, as I imagine his hands and his mouth on me, the feel of his naked skin under my hands, and the perfect shape of his cock filling me. I shudder as I come, quickly, surprisingly, and with a deep, deep longing in my entire body focusing in my center as I almost cramp around my own fingers.

I lie coiled around my hand for a moment, sweating and aching, but in a good way, as the pulsing subsides. Then I stumble into the bathroom, strip and step into the shower, and I can't help imagining that it's Edward's hands lathering up the soap, caressing my breasts and back, sliding suggestively along the inside of my thighs. I dress again, in khakis and a t-shirt, and stand for a moment at the door, biting my lip, bracing myself to go out there and try to act normal, as if nothing has happened. As if I didn't freak out in a grocery store and just got myself off thinking about a much younger man who is sleeping under my roof tonight. But for his sake, I must try. Because he deserves the best of me. However insignificant that might be.

When I come out into the kitchen there is the most amazing, mouthwatering smell, and I see Edward standing at the counter, making a salad, while some pots on the stove are giving off steam and wafting aromas of tomato sauce my way. The oven is on and there is a covered bowl on the side of the stove, which reminds me of my earlier promise to make us garlic bread. Oh no, and here I left him all alone to do the work by himself!

He looks up and sees me standing there, hesitating, and smiles, that wonderful smile that makes me all warm inside, and nods to the stove.

"I looked up the basic recipe for Italian bread in your Italian cook book, and I think it's ready for stage two now, but I have no idea about how you make garlic bread so I was just going to come around knocking on your door to ask for your help."

I feel my face getting hot as I hurry over and lift the towel from the dough, mumbling my apology.

"I'm really sorry, I was just going to lie down for a minute, but then I drifted off. This looks wonderful, but I think I'm just going to make rolls if that's alright with you? We could save some for breakfast tomorrow?"

We work companionably in the kitchen, listening to an oldie station on the radio, me kneading the dough and making rolls, and Edward finishing up the salad and boiling the pasta. It feels surprisingly good to be doing this together, to not be alone in the kitchen tonight, and every now and then I sneak a peek at him, his bare arms, his shoulders, his profile, his perfect face.

Somehow I can't believe it. I thought I would never be comfortable around a man again, let alone someone in my home, in my own private space, but this feels as easy as breathing. If anything, his presence calms me down. Well, not counting the accelerating heart beat I get from time to time, and the spark I feel whenever he happens to touch me and the raging attraction I am trying so hard to repress.

Edward lays the table while the bread is in the oven, and when I take the rolls out and put them on a cooling rack, we sit down to eat. As an afterthought I go get a bottle of Montepulciano Abruzzo from the cupboard, where it has been sitting for months. I've never been a big drinker, and since I came here I have pretty much given up alcohol all together. But this Italian meal seems to call for an Italian wine.

"Do you want a glass of wine with your pasta?" I ask. Edward hesitates, then smiles at me. "Only half a glass, and only if you're having some yourself." I pour us each half a glass, and sit down and raise my glass to him.

"To the chef!" I say. Edward laughs and clinks his glass to mine. "To the hostess," he counters. While we eat, Edward slowly leads the conversation around to what happened this afternoon, and I tense slightly when I see where he is heading. I force myself to relax. It is only fair that I tell him a little bit about myself, and I don't have to tell him anything I feel uncomfortable talking about.

"So, you are a university professor?" He smiles at me. "Do you teach at UCLA, then? What's your subject?"

I clear my throat a little and push the pasta around on my plate. "No, actually I hold a position at Berkeley, but I am on a sabbatical right now, trying to finish up a book I've wanted to write for a long time. It's difficult to get the time to write when you are teaching and trying to keep up with research and this seemed like a good time to take some time off." I pause, then plunge ahead. Might as well get it over with.

"I, that is, my husband and I separated the past winter, and I was going to move house anyway so when Rosalie asked me if I wanted to come down here for a while I decided to go for it and make the time for this project." I peek up at Edward, but he seems to be concentrating on his food, and has a bland, politely interested look on his face.

"Hmm, and what are you writing about?"

Now I warm to my subject, because this is something that actually has the power to pull me out of myself and make me focus on why I decided to go to grad school in the first place.

"Well, I don't know what you studied in college, but I majored in English and went on to grad school after that, specializing in the classics, Renaissance literature. Shakespeare has been a particular favourite of mine, and since I wrote my thesis on feminist interpretations of Shakespeare heroines I am writing a text book on the subject of feminism, literary theory and Shakespeare. I am writing an article right now on homoerotic desire and triangles in the works of Shakespeare, which are far more common than what you might think."

Edward looks puzzled but genuinely interested now, and polishes off the last of his pasta, reaching for the bowl of salad as he asks: "Really, there is homosexuality in Shakespeare's plays? I thought that thing with boys playing girls was merely a convention of the times, because women weren't allowed to go on the stage?"

I shake my head. "No, that's not what I mean with homoerotic desire, although it is true that Shakespeare often plays very consciously on the double-entendre of having men dressed up as women dress up as boys. No the triangles occur when there are two male characters using a female character as a kind of focal point for their own desire, to play against one another, using her as a pawn. It is a power play, but it is also sexually charged, and they use the woman as a sort of relay to act out their own relationship by way of her." Edward looks confused, so I try to give him an example.

"Look, have you read Othello?" He nods. "What is it about?" I ask. Edward knots his eyebrows together, obviously trying to fish for an intelligent response.

"Well, Othello is about a man with a chip on his shoulder, who is incredibly successful, but insecure, and driven to madness from jealousy by an enemy posing as a friend."

I smile. "Well put. But Othello is also about racism, economic and cultural colonialism and gender roles. You could argue that the triangle Jago-Desdemona-Othello is a homoerotic triangle. Jago is in love with Othello, but his frustrated desire is expressed in jealousy, and he uses Desdemona to get to Othello. Othello's insecurities concerning his wife are not only born of his race but of his complex sexuality. He is trying very hard to be a manly man, don't you think? Desdemona becomes an unwitting go-between of their suppressed desire and is killed as a result of it. She is only the screen upon which they project their insecurities and their desire, she is ultimately not important in herself."

Edward smiles, while spearing a cherry tomato on his plate. " I'm sure you are right, Bella, I mean, I majored in business economics so I don't know anything about modern literary theory. It's just that what you are saying sounds so..harsh. I mean, wasn't Othello ever in love with Desdemona? Where is the romantic love that I thought Shakespeare was so full of? Isn't Othello a tragic love story, about a man's great love turning into murderous hate through his lack of faith in the loved one? Isn't Desdemona a sort of tragic heroine, sacrificing herself for the man she loves?"

I sigh. "That would be one traditional interpretation, but really, what is so romantic about marital abuse? If this had happened today Desdemona would have been wise to move out as soon as Othello started going through her things and asking weird questions." I push my plate away. I really shouldn't be eating this late in the evening, anyway.

Edward suddenly reaches out over the table, and puts his hand over my hand. "Bella, I'm sorry if I said something stupid. I really don't know what I'm talking about, and it's clear that you do. Are you alright? Is the food okay? You have hardly eaten anything?"

I look up into his face and I am mesmerized by his piercing green gaze, the concern in his warm voice, and the tingle of his large, warm hand over mine. The kitchen suddenly feels like a protected sphere, an intimate cave of golden lamplight where we are safe together, where I am safe in his gaze, under his touch. This is too good, too much too soon. I gather my wits, put my free hand of top of his and give it a squeeze, then pull both my hands back into my lap, and push my chair away from the table.

"Nothing is wrong Edward, and you are not stupid, not at all. As I told you, I rarely eat anything after six o'clock, so I'm not very hungry, although the pasta sauce was delicious. I'll have some for lunch tomorrow, if that's okay? I'm going to make some tea now, do you want some?"

As I bring my plate to the sink I see his shoulders slump slightly as I turn away, as if he is disappointed in my reaction.

We clear the table and put everything away, and then we sit in the twilight of the living room with only the small side lamps lit, and some music playing low on the Ipod. The golden floors and the dark red rugs glow in the lamplight, and the open fireplace is filled with tea lights. Outside the sea is invisible in the dark, and you can barely hear the sound of the waves in the distance, like a heartbeat.

"So you studied business economics, Edward?" I look at his shadowed profile from my corner of the sofa, ensconced behind my large tea mug and with my feet pulled up under me.

He shrugs. "Yes, it's not very interesting, but it's something my parents thought was a good choice." He sighs. "I don't mean that I was bored studying or that I let my parents decide my major, I only mean that I wasn't passionate about any particular subject, and my grades were good overall, so I ended up taking business economics mostly as a means to an end, to get a job."

He seems to be studying the contents of his tea mug in the semi-darkness. "It would have been nice to feel like you seem to be feeling about your subject, English: engaged, intense, involved."

He looks up at me, and I see his eyes glint, catching the light. "Passionate", he breathes, and his voice is a caress, warm and velvet and soft. I shudder a little bit.

"Well", I deflect, "people sometimes tell me that I should be investing my energy and emotions into something other than work". I smile a slightly bitter smile. _He_ was always suggesting that I should stop being so pretentious and uptight and allow myself to get involved with people instead of old books, take an interest in reality. Of course, somehow that "reality" was always something to do with him and his needs. I push those unpleasant thoughts to the side. I hesitate.

"Edward, I don't want to pry, but why are you here, working in a diner if you were a business student in college? Did you drop out? Did something happen?"

Edward is quiet, and I begin to regret my question, want to take it back, but then he speaks, his head lowered and his gaze seemingly fixed on the floorboards. "I did drop out, before I could graduate, but it wasn't because of anything that happened in college. It was for…family reasons. And I can't go back, not now. Maybe never." His voice is so raw, so defeated, that I feel my throat contract with pity.

"Edward, I would never push you, I just want you to know that I've seen it before, things happen to students all the time that force them to drop out, sickness, money problems, personal problems, and it's never too late to go back and graduate. You could transfer. You shouldn't…just, don't give up on the idea of graduating forever. That's all. I could help you." My voice trails off. I bite my lip. Edward sits unmoving and we remain quiet for a beat.

"Thank you, Bella. There's nothing anyone can do right now, but…thank you. "His voice is a whisper in the dusk. "For everything. I mean it."

I hesitate, before I say what I am feeling. "It's not all one-sided, you know. Your being here, it means something. I didn't realize how lonely I was until you turned up. I appreciate you helping me out, cooking me dinner. Thank you."

He makes no comment, but I imagine that I can see the corners of his mouth turn up in an almost imperceptible smile.

"On Friday I will be going out to meet with some people in the afternoon, so I might not be here when you come back from work, but you have the key so you can let yourself in, right?" I look a question in Edward's direction, and he nods silently, his attention back on his tea mug again. Then he puts the mug down, stretches in a cat-like move and is on his feet, looking down at me.

"Goodnight, Bella. It was nice being with you today, talking. I'll see you tomorrow night then?" He stretches out his hand, to help me to my feet, and when I stand I stumble slightly, so that I am mere inches away from him, and I feel his warm body and his incredible, sweet smell, wafting towards me, and I struggle for a coherent response. "Yes. Yes, see you tomorrow. Goodnight." I take a small step backwards and straighten up, but then I give his arm a small pat before I cross the room and go to the kitchen to dispose of my mug.

In the safety of my bedroom, I lean against the wall again and draw a deep breath. Will I ever get used to him? What in the world should I say to Rosalie on Friday? And my therapist? Oh, God help me!

* * *

**EPOV**

After Bella retires to her room I spend a couple of minutes wiping down surfaces and turning off lights before I go to bed in my guest room. It's a warm night, and I leave the small window at the top open to the night breeze instead of turning on the air conditioner. I like to smell and hear the sea when I fall asleep, and I leave the curtains slightly parted so that a sliver of moonlight can enter the darkness of my room. I am tired, and I have to get up early as hell in the morning, but I want to take some time to think about all that happened today before I go to sleep.

Being with Bella is amazing. She is so warm, intelligent, beautiful and brave that I marvel at her all the time. I feel amazed at what she said tonight. That she would help me get back into college. That my being here meant something to her. Not just what she said, but how she said it. Hesitant, but not because she didn't mean it. Hesitant, because she was considering my feelings, looking at me with those sad, warm eyes, wondering about me, really wanting to help me.

And then she stood so close to me that I could feel the warmth from her body on my skin, through our clothes, and breathe her in, that flowery scent that makes my mind reel, I was so close to pulling her in, just so I could hold her and feel her against me, molded against my body. I sigh and shift uncomfortably in my bed. The thought is bliss and painful at the same time. Bliss, because every thought of touching her is wonderful, imagining what her soft, pale skin would feel like under my fingers, under my lips. Painful, because, let's face it, this line of thought is making me painfully hard, and I don't like the idea of getting off in my borrowed bed on borrowed sheets, thinking about my oblivious hostess. Poor taste, Cullen. Think of something else.

I feel myself tensing up at the thought of what happened at the table. She was talking about her work, and she was positively glowing from inside, intense, focused, involved, and intelligent as hell, and I had to keep looking away, at my plate, at the salad bowl, at the table, to hide the emotion welling up inside of me. And then I said something stupid, and her light just…went out. She was deflated and tired, and done.

There are things I don't understand about her, and I really need to know. Like, why it seems she hardly ever eats: I mean, is it normal for a grown woman to eat an apple for breakfast, or have two spoons of pasta for dinner? She seems suspiciously thin in her oversized clothes, and I don't think it's healthy, this "diet" she's on, whatever it is. And all that stuff about Othello, and how she reacted when I asked if it wasn't a romantic story. That's when the light went out. This husband of hers, was he a jealous prick and did he abuse her in anyway, is that what this "life crises" is about? Is she on the run from an abusive ex?

I fist my hands and sit up in bed. Just the thought of her screams last night, and the idea of her asshole husband turning up here gets my adrenaline pumping. I stand up and pace around for a while, willing my heartbeat to slow. Finally I stand with my forehead leaning against the door, just breathing and imagining that I am standing face to face with Bella, my face in her hair, my hands skimming her arms in a soothing motion. Oh, baby, I could be so good to you. So much better than that stupid, stupid guy who hurt you and scared you away.

I turn around with a sigh and dive into bed, punching the pillows into shape. It will be a long day tomorrow, and I hate getting up early, but at least I know that I will be spending some part of tomorrow with Bella. And the café isn't bad, not at all. I could probably get to like it here…and I determinedly shut the door to all thoughts ahead. Tomorrow is far enough away.

* * *

**A/N: Now they're finally getting to know one another, at least a little bit. If you could sit down to dinner with this Bella and Edward, what would be your first question to each of them? (I can't promise you'll get your answer, you can see they're pretty good at deflecting..?) Leave the poor, shy things a review will you?**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I don't have a beta, so all the mistakes are mine. Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. Summer plays havoc on my Friday posting schedule, but it's still once a week, never fear. Thank you for your patience!**

* * *

**Chapter 8**

_Now that I've met you_

_would you object to_

_never seeing each other again?_

'_Cause I can't afford to_

_climb aboard you:_

_No one's got that much ego to spend._

_So don't work your stuff,_

_because I've got troubles enough._

_No, don't pick on me_

_when one act of kindness could be_

_deathly…._

Aimee Mann: Deathly.

* * *

**BPOV**

We find a routine together. Edward goes to work before I get up, I take my morning run and drop by at the café for a spell, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. Then I run home, shower and work until midday, get myself some leftovers or make a salad for lunch and in the afternoons I take a walk and work, or run errands.

When Edward gets home he usually takes a nap, sometimes he goes running, or he joins me later for coffee or a walk, or shopping, and in the evening he cooks dinner while I work some more, or we cook dinner together. He insists on learning how to make vegetarian meals in spite of the fact that I've told him that I eat very little in the evenings. I don't care if I eat or not, just being with him is blissful. The week runs by quickly and all too soon Friday is here.

I get up at my normal time, and find that Edward has already left for work. He has made a pot of Earl Grey and left it under the knitted tea cosy on the table for me, with my tea mug, which makes me smile. Thoughtful. I have my tea and my apple and change into my sweats, do my stretching exercises, and set out for my morning run.

The beach is quiet, the air chilly and the sea is slow, and it looks like another beautiful day is about to start. Not many people are around, and no one comes near me as I run at my normal pace, trying to find the rhythm when everything comes together, the beat that makes the burning in my legs and lungs bearable.

Sometimes I can't find that rhythm at all, and sometimes running is just jagged, painful. Then my thoughts start churning, dark thoughts, how I deserve the pain, how I can purge myself with the pain, and perversely enough, after a while that makes the running easier, gives me a strange sense of elation. The fact that I can make myself do this, that I can run _through_ the pain, always makes me feel that I have control over my body, myself, my life. At least for a short while.

When I reach the café, I pause to get my breath back, then stretch and pace for a little while to get my heartbeat back to normal, before I go in and use the bathroom at the back as usual. But everything is different now, because I am conscious of the fact that Edward is somewhere around and that I might actually catch a glimpse of him if I am lucky. I decide to stay for a minute and sit in a corner with a cup of tea and a sandwich, reading the paper, but acutely aware of the staff and every time I see someone come and go from the kitchen.

Then I look up and see him. He has a white t-shirt and jeans, and a black apron tucked in around his hips, and he is smiling and talking to the waitress while he is gathering up the dirty dishes, preparing to take them into the kitchen. He is so, so beautiful, the morning sun catching the gold in his bronze mop of hair through the windows.

Then he scans the room, and his gaze stops when our eyes meet. He just stands there for a second, looking at me, and his smile grows bigger. I'm frozen, unable to move. Then he shakes his head a little, nods at me, and walks away with his load, still smiling. I exhale, shake myself mentally, and prepare to go. Big day ahead. But I feel better now, after seeing Edward.

Today, I am meeting Rosalie downtown for lunch, and then I have my monthly appointment with my therapist. It was Rosalie's suggestion, and although I resisted to begin with, I now admit that it was a good idea, probably necessary. I was a mess in the beginning, a weeping, shaking mess. Unable to work, unable to face anyone, locked in bouts between hysteria and catatonic depression. I had two sessions a week to start with, then we slowed down to once a week, and now I am finally down to a session every three weeks.

I don't know if I it really helps: intellectually grasping things has never been difficult for me, it is connecting what I understand and what I feel that is the impossible part. But the routines I have built for myself with the help of Dr Banner help me, physical exercise, mental pep-talks, deep breathing when I panic or can't sleep, all of those have slowly helped me get back on my feet again.

I have almost stopped with the medication, since I was opposed to it in the first place. I am sure that I have the disposition of an addict, which is why I never started smoking, refused to try pot and have been careful with alcohol. I just know that deep down I am weak, and taking chemicals at a low point in my life seemed like inviting disaster. What if it helped and I never could quit, too scared to feel that shitty again?

But I have to admit that knowing that I had medication to help me with my panic attacks and sleepless nights worked just the way Dr Banner said: just the knowledge that there was help calmed me to some extent. The way thinking about killing myself had calmed me before. Still calms me sometimes.

Not that I am planning to or anything: I know what that selfish kind of act does to people around you. I would never wish to hurt others that way. But sometimes it is soothing to think about death. Death is easy. Life is complicated. And right now I am not sure where my life is going, if anywhere, which makes it even more complicated.

After my shower I take more care dressing than normal, since I am meeting Rose; dress slacks and an embroidered white peasant blouse, some make up and ear rings, low heels and the Chanel handbag she gave me for my birthday: another absurdly expensive gift that I resented at the time, but will use to make her happy.

Rosalie is a lawyer and works very hard, making "obscene amounts of money" as she loves to tell me with a laugh. She knows of my liberal leanings and teases me every chance she gets for my anti-consumerist ideals, but I also know that her generosity towards me stems from an unflinching friendship that I cannot resent, especially not now when I feel that she has literally saved my life a number of times.

It was Rosalie who called me after James kicked me out and served me with the divorce papers, and she flew out immediately in spite of her work load, to get me a good divorce attorney and scrape me off the floor.

If it wasn't for her, I would probably have gotten almost nothing from the divorce, but because my attorney convinced the court that I had been the victim of my husband's cruelty and psychological abuse for years and had suffered considerable financial damage by giving in to his demands that I put his wellbeing before my own career, I was awarded a considerable sum of money in the divorce settlement. In spite of everything, what James wanted more than anything was to get rid of me quickly, so he let his lawyers speed the process up as much as possible, even though it might have been to his disadvantage.

It probably didn't look good that James kicked me out of our mutual home and then threw a Christmas party for his business associates and all our friends with his new girlfriend Victoria on his arm within weeks of initiating the divorce. It probably also reflected badly on James that his former wife seemed to have been reduced to a pale, quivering mess by his actions, when all the character witnesses spoke of me as an intelligent, warm and caring teacher and friend, torn between my sense of duty to my work and to my demanding and overbearing husband.

I was too humiliated by the whole process to want to go back to work and face my colleagues and the whispering students, which is why I managed to get permission to take the sabbatical I had been planning for years. If everything went well with the book I would probably be going back in the fall, unless I decided to do something completely different with my life. I just didn't know what.

Driving out to meet Rosalie, I try to focus on the day ahead. Talking to Edward had been difficult but important. He was obviously on the run from some kind of family situation, and probably something a lot more intimidating than just a breakup with a girlfriend.

Hm, girlfriend, I don't like the sound of that, although I have to admit to myself that it was hard to imagine someone like Edward getting through college without a string of girlfriends. But I really hope that whatever was in his past was something that I could make him face eventually, if only so that he could move on to a place in society that must surely be reserved for someone like him.

Even if he didn't want to go back home, I would do my very best to see if I could help him finish college somehow. With the economy in a slump, he would probably never have a chance to get ahead if he didn't at least finish his education, and it seemed such a waste to drop out months before graduation. I sighed. This was another complication: would Edward go with me back to San Francisco in the fall if I asked him too? It seemed unlikely.

Our situation was a balancing act: he needed me right now, and I was beginning to suspect that I needed him just as badly, if for less obvious reasons, but it couldn't last. Just as I knew I couldn't hide forever from my old life, so I knew that Edward couldn't stay with me for long. The thought suddenly gives a sharp stab in my chest and makes my breathing hitch. I force myself to do the slow breathing exercises Dr Banner have taught me, and ease the tension inside me.

But right now, I have to convince Rosalie that Edward staying with me at the beach house was a good idea; she had been furious on the phone the other day, accusing me of taking stupid risks and "having a death wish" letting druggies and gang members into the house. I managed to calm her down, but only by promising to meet with her, so she could make sure I was alright and not "going batshit-crazy on my own".

When I get to the restaurant it turns out to be the kind with valet parking, which immediately gets my hackles up, but I try to push my apprehension down, and walk up to the hostess mumbling about a reservation for two in the name of Hale? At the same moment, Rosalie swoops down on me, giving me a big hug, exclaiming how good it is to see me. I huff. It wasn't as if we hardly ever were in touch: she called me a couple of times a week, and we met up occasionally for lunch at the beach house on weekends or in town during the working week, when I felt I could manage.

She looks gorgeous as usual, with her immaculate blond ringlets, and an ice blue power suit fitting snugly around her ample curves that makes her lovely blue eyes look as blue as periwinkles. Lots of male lawyers have been screwed over by her good looks, apparently unable to wrap their heads around the fact that a blonde as attractive as Rosalie Hale could possibly have the matching awesome brains and relentless will to win.

She has almost always scared the living hell out of men twice her age and stature, and I have to admit she intimidates me more than half of the time when we're together. I am not petite, but beside Rose I sometimes feel like a midget: she is tall, but I have never seen a tall woman walk so comfortably on ridiculously high heels, and today was no exception. She takes my arm and follows the waiter to our table, towering above me, and chatting away as usual.

"Boy, do I need to get away for lunch today: this week has been a disaster, working around the clock to prepare for the trial next week. High profile case, sexual assault by a man in high office, lots of female clerks popping out of the woodwork once the first girl got the balls to make the call. This will be a good one, Bella, and all for women's rights too!"

She chuckles and elbows me lightly in the ribs, before we slide into the booth and are handed menus by a tall, dark-haired young waiter who clearly has a hard time avoiding ogling Rosalie's cleavage. I frown warningly in his direction, men have been known to get in trouble for eyeing Rose the wrong way. She seems oblivious, though, scanning the menu and ordering a glass of Chardonnay. I stick to sparkling water, and order the only vegetarian item I can find on the menu which happens to be mushroom ravioli, although I try to avoid pasta whenever I can. This is more of a steak and tuna type restaurant, which is probably why Rosalie picked it. She likes her restaurants to be expensive, "because she's worth it".

Rosalie and I go back to college times, which makes her one of my oldest friends. It was one of those inexplicable friendships in freshman year, where I took one look at Rose and decided that she was probably one of those girls who used to pick on me mercilessly in high school for no reason at all, other than that I was plain and nerdy while they were beautiful and popular, while Rose, for some reason I have still not fathomed, took one look at me and decided that we were going to become fast friends.

She took me under her wing in college, and it was in her company that I went to parties and rock concerts that I would never have ventured to alone. She was beautiful, fierce and intelligent, obviously headed for great things, and already then she waded through a never-ending tide of young men eager to make her acquaintance, but with few female friends. Like me, other girls were probably mostly intimidated by her looks and saw her as bitchy, when she was really just outspoken and upfront in a way that women aren't supposed to be.

That is probably why I got to see Rose at one of her lowest moments, after being date raped by a guy she admired and trusted and thought was "the one". It was me she called in the middle of the night, it was I who took her to the hospital and stayed with her through the examination and the interview with the police, and it was in my bed she slept for the next couple of days, when she was unable to face the night alone.

Her bodily injuries were not serious, since Royce had mostly slapped her and used his greater weight and height to pin her down, but the effect on her self esteem and ability to trust men was graver. Royce's defence was that the whole thing was consensual and that Rose "liked it rough", and his attorney was a vulture living off high society cases and a scumbag who tried to paint Rose out to be the town floozy. Fortunately that didn't completely fly with the jury, and Royce ended up with a sentence for rape and was shipped off to prison, rich boy or not.

Maybe this was why Rosalie, after graduating law school with flying colours, finally ended up as a lawyer specializing in sexual assault and harassment cases, and making a name for herself as well able to take on high profile and sticky situations. She never seemed to get personal, but her competitive and combative nature made her one dangerous opponent, waxing between sweet and sympathetic and then lashing and acidic, but always with the facts on her side.

Although she still took time to date and often turned up at society events with someone handsome or famous, since college I had not seen Rose in a serious, long term relationship. Now with my present mind set I was beginning to think that we would end up as two old spinsters sharing an apartment and an army of cats. Correction, I would be the plain spinster taking care of the cats, while Rosalie would be the glamorous spinster, charming the mailman and the caretaker to take her out on dates and then discarding them as one night stands.

"Now, Bella, I want to hear all about this man you're keeping at the house. Is he safe? Is he well-behaved? What's his background? Is he at least good-looking?" Rose's piercing blue eyes are fixed on me and I gulp down some ice water and let my gaze wander around the restaurant, looking absent-mindedly at the well-dressed men and women enjoying their meals in designer chairs against a gold, white and lime background. What should I say? I know already that she doesn't approve, and she has a point: it's her house after all, and she let me borrow it believing I would be staying there alone. What can I say to convince her to let me let Edward stay, if only for the time being?

"Look, Rose, I know that this isn't like me and it must seem harebrained to you, but please trust me on this? You know that I'm not one to take stupid risks. I would never have invited this man in if I seriously thought he might be a risk to myself or to your property…"

"Property, Bella?" Rosalie is suddenly fuming. "You think this is about me being concerned about my house? I care about you, damn it! And it's a fucking lie that you never take stupid risks. Living with that psycho James for 15 years is pretty much enough to get you incarcerated in a mental institution for taking criminal risks with your own life and mental health in my books!"

Rose is hissing, but it's loud enough that some people close to our table are looking our way and I feel a blush creeping up my neck and face. Rose angry is a magnificent but very intimidating sight, and I try to calm myself with a couple of deep breaths. It wouldn't do to have a public panic attack in a restaurant today, I tell myself.

"Please, Rose, I'm sorry, of course I didn't mean to imply that you don't care about me. It's just that I feel..responsible for the house too, since you were kind enough to let me stay there, so of course I contemplated the risk of you being burgled when I invited Edward in."

"Edward? His name is Edward?" Rosalie is calming down, settling back in her chair and sipping the Chardonnay that just arrived. The same good-looking waiter is languishing puppy-dog looks in her direction, but she seems oblivious. My mineral water is poured, and then he can't find any reason for hovering so he takes off with a last wistful smile at Rose. I roll my eyes inwardly, and return to the conversation while I busy my eyes and hands with breaking a bread roll into tiny pieces.

"Yes, his name is Edward Masen, he's about 21 years old and dropped out of college earlier this spring because of some family upheaval and it seems he has been moving around the country since then, and lately has fallen on hard times and has been living on the beach." I frown thoughtfully down at the perfect crust that I have just destroyed.

"He was pretty disheveled when I found him, but once he was cleaned up it was clear to me that he is a good sort of guy. He is well-mannered, very polite, a bit on the quiet side, but intelligent and good with people – he got Kate to give him a try at a job after a ten minute interview, and she doesn't seem to be easily taken in."

Rose snorts dismissively. "Look, Bella, the mere fact that a guy has a way of taking women in is not a recommendation in my experience. It only means that he is smooth enough to do to you what he has probably done to others before: take advantage."

Now it's my turn to bristle. "It wasn't _his_ idea to stay at the house, in fact, he has been uncomfortable at everything I have tried to do for him, and constantly asking to do things for me. He discovered that the deck needs a going over, and he was perfectly willing to do it for me for free, only he was concerned that it would take too long what with him not having the professional tools for the job, and I assumed that you wouldn't want me to hire him without asking first."

Rose arches her eyebrows. "The deck you say? Yes, it's true that I have been meaning to see someone about that: it must be years since it was polished and oiled last time. Don't worry, though, I will get a firm to come around and fix it, and I'll give you a call ahead to warn you. So, this Edward fellow wants to do things for you? Are you sure he doesn't just want to DO you, my girl?" She smirks at me, but fortunately our plates arrive just then, and I busy myself with napkin and cutlery, trying to will the blushing to stop.

"Please, Rose, he is twenty years younger and very handsome, and he has given no inclination that he feels anything like that for me. He's very correct, in an almost old-fashioned manner. That's one of the reasons I feel so sure that he must come from a good background. It's in the way he speaks, his posture, the way he remembers to hold doors for me, his intelligence and conversation, everything."

"Hm, he sounds more and more like a professional gigolo who has fallen on hard times. Maybe he's just waiting for you to make him an offer to set him up in a condo as your personal pretty boy?" She winks.

"There are some good professional services for women too these days, you know Bella, if you ever feel like having a date without all the hassle? It's been more than six months – don't you think it would be a good thing to get James out of your system and enjoy the company of a normal man who appreciates you?"

I scowl furiously at Rosalie over my plate of ravioli. "Really, Rose, you think that an escort service would help my self esteem any? Besides, I would be so uncomfortable at the mere idea of bought company that I would probably end up hurling in his lap or panicking in public. Endless humiliation is what I do best, remember?" I mutter to myself, picking at the delicious pasta that I have no real intention of eating. I look up to find Rose looking at me with concern.

"Bella, I hope that you get some help from this shrink you're seeing, because it's plain as day to me that you're still carrying James around inside you. You are a smart, beautiful and talented woman, and he made you feel like shit for years - why you let him is beyond my understanding. What you need now is to start facing up to the fact that you wasted too many years on an asshole, and figure out how to make the most of the rest of your life." She waves her fork around, and the light catches on her flashy Calvin Klein watch.

"I don't know about this Edward guy, but I know there are enough men around who wouldn't mind taking you out on a date, or to bed or taking care of you for the rest of your life for that matter, if you just let them. If you can't find it in yourself to appreciate what a wonderful woman you are, maybe you should let someone else be your guide?"

I try to focus on how the sunlight is throwing prisms from the glass of water in front of me onto the table cloth, to block out the pounding in my ears and the beginning blur from tears I don't wish to shed. Not now, not here. I clear my throat and take a deep breath.

"Rose, I love you. You are intimidating as all hell sometimes, but I do love you, and I appreciate all that you have done for me. But please, I have to live my life my own way." I look up at her through my wet lashes and I see that she is watching me warily, prepared for another breakdown.

"I can't do things because you or my therapist or someone else thinks I should do them. I have to take it one step at the time. And right now, dating is not on top of my list. I want to finish my book and get back to work and sort out where I'm going to live. And this very moment I am here because I need to know if you are okay with me having a guest at your beach house." I hesitate briefly.

"I admit that I don't know much about Edward, but I think I know enough to trust him around the house. He makes me feel better, which I didn't expect, and he still gives me the space I need. And I think he needs me right now, to get out of whatever situation he's in, and I would really like to help him, because I think he is a good person and deserves a break."

Rose is still looking at me, and I think that her blue gaze is softening.

"Bella, I do trust you, and I don't want to force you into anything. It's just that sometimes we need friends who will push us beyond the limits we set up for ourselves, and I would like to help you see that, that's all."

She lets her finger follow the rim of her wineglass and I see her perfectly polished nails reflect the sun. "I think that if Edward makes you feel more comfortable at the house, it's probably fine that he stays there for the time being. I would really like to meet him for myself. How about I come around for lunch on Sunday? I can bring some takeout so you won't have to cook for me again?"

I smile, because this is like a running joke between us: Rose knows that I love to cook, but that I prefer to cook vegetarian meals, while she is a carnivore of the first order who has politely eaten some delicious veggie meals at the house, while wondering aloud "why we never barbecue together instead".

"Fine, I'll just check with Edward so that he's not working Sunday and I'll give you a call. And, thank you Rose. Really. I don't know what I would do without you."

We finish the meal on a lighter note, and decline the dessert and coffee that our waiter tries to press on us with a sentimental expression. Rose insists on paying, and I limit myself to discreetly fishing out and crumpling the note with the waiter's phone number that he recklessly smuggled to our table with the check, to prevent Rose's wrath from pouring over his and the restaurant manager's heads. My last view of him is when he clears our table, still staring at Rose's retreating form and I shake my head at him and the general folly of the world. _She is so out of your league, mister. Much like Edward is way out of mine_, I silently add to myself. I sigh and follow Rose out, relieved to be out of sight of L.A:s crème de la crème.

We part outside the restaurant with a promise to get in touch soon about Sunday and I watch Rose drive off in her red BMW, one of three – or four? - cars I know for a fact that she owns. I sigh, and start my drive across town to the offices of my psychologist, Dr Banner. Now I have to brace myself to have this conversation all over again.

Why is it so hard to explain Edward's presence in my life to other people? Duh, Bella, because he is half your age and you picked him up while he was sleeping on the beach, that's why. Yeah, well but that doesn't begin to describe all of his qualities as a human being, his sensitivity, his humour, his intelligence, his incredible beauty, his hotness..OK stop right there. I frown and try to ignore the tingle that goes through my body and squeezes my heart when I think of that look he gave me across the diner this morning. How can a man be so…dazzling?

While I drive I flick on my Ipod to my HappyPlace playing list, trying to boost my own mood. The groove of The Soup Dragons "I'm free" bounces through my car. Oh, how I wish I was free from my inner demons, my doubts about the future, people's perception of me and all the rest…

When I get to Dr Banner's office I have some trouble finding a parking space as I might have predicted, and I arrive slightly behind schedule, out of breath. The doctor's secretary smiles and waves me in, and I knock on the door before entering. The room is big and airy with muted colours in browns and greens, and I feel a mix of emotions as always when I enter her practice. In this room I have wept and wailed, and sat rigid pushing my emotions down, but I have also felt hope and the beginning of a realization that I will get through this too. I am stronger than I knew. I just hope that my strength is enough to give me my life back.

Dr Banner looks up at me and smiles from behind her desk, then rises and comes around to shake my hand and gesture to the comfy chair where I usually sit. Elizabeth Banner is a woman in her fifties, with short cropped grey hair, a face with the sort of beauty that resides in the bone structure and only gets better with time, cool grey eyes and a sensitive mouth. Today she is dressed in a grey pleated skirt and a green silk shirt that blends in well with the colours in her office.

"Hello Bella. It's good to see you again. How have you been since we last met?"

Her voice is low and smooth, and she always makes me relax, maybe because she herself seems so comfortable in her own body, moving with a sort of unconscious grace that I can only admire, never emulate.

I clear my voice and tell her about how I have had fewer nightmares and have been sleeping better, that I have weaned myself completely from the sleeping pills and have managed to cut down on the anxiety meds without problems and that I think I am slowly learning to deal better with moving about in public.

Dr Banner nods and asks me about my social interactions with other people, and this is where I feel I have to tell her about Edward.

"There is something I want to discuss with you." I hesitate.

"My situation has changed. I have a guest staying at the beach house as of this week, a young man that I met on the beach and who needed a place to stay. I was…hesitant at first, but I've found that he is a positive influence in my life. I feel..safer with him around. Just the other day I was grocery shopping with him when one of my old colleagues suddenly showed up, Tanya, remember her? Well, I thought I was going to have a panic attack at first, but then Edward stepped in and sort of took the heat away, and then I felt..calm again. It's actually very strange, because I haven't normally felt that way around men I don't know well, but it seems as if I've known him forever already."

I peek up at Dr Banner, expecting an incredulous look on her face, but she is simply regarding me calmly, with a hardly perceptible smile of encouragement.

"So, Bella, I take it that you haven't seen Edward before you met him on the beach, yet you say you felt comfortable letting him into your home, and allowing him to stay with you as your guest. Do you have any thoughts on why that is?"

I wring my hands and look down at the silver grey carpet trying to collect my thoughts.

"I don't really know. It puzzles me too. He is not like any other man I have met, yet he feels so familiar. He seems kind and attentive, almost shy sometimes, but at the same time sure about himself, without being bossy or assertive. It's as if he always waits for me, to see if I'm okay with the things he does and the things he says. I feel as if he is… careful of me. And the reason I offered him a place to stay was because he obviously had no other options. He needed me. He needs me. He doesn't want to be a burden and he insists on doing everything he can to help me, but I try to make him see that it's okay to need help, that I'm okay helping him. It's just…it's okay."

I falter and fall silent. I don't feel that I am making much sense.

Dr Banner is silent for a while, and then she says: "Bella, when I hear what you have to say about Edward I am intrigued, because it seems to me you are almost describing yourself? Isn't that very much the role you have taken upon yourself in most of your personal relationships? Kind, attentive, careful of the feelings of others, helpful? Do you think that it's possible that you are saying that by helping Edward, who is in a vulnerable position right now, you are trying to tell yourself that it is okay for you to be vulnerable and need help too? Do you feel that it is okay for you to need help and to receive help, Bella?"

I sit still, trying to relax my body and my mind, drawing slow, deep breaths.

"Yes, I do," I say, but I can hear how my voice sounds: tight, strained.

Dr Banner merely waits for me to keep breathing. "Take your time, Bella," is all she says.

Finally, I swallow and feel ready to continue.

"I mean, I know intellectually that it's okay to be vulnerable sometimes, to be weak and need help from others. I know it, but it's harder to feel it, inside. Sometimes I feel like I have been fighting all my life, fighting just to keep my head above the water, to keep up. There hasn't ever really been time for me to think about whether I needed help or not, I have just…moved on, helping myself, getting things done."

"How have you been helping yourself, Bella?" Dr Banner is calm, non-committal, but I flare up all the same.

"Oh, I know what you're thinking, what Rose was thinking today, that I am incapable of looking out for my own interests, that I am an accident waiting to happen. But it's not true, I have been looking out for myself, all my life. It was I who scraped together our money and made sure that there was food in the fridge and dinner on the table at home when I was a kid, I who made sure my grades in school were okay, I who applied to college and got the grants I needed to afford it, I who kept my marriage going when it was rocky and did everything James asked of me, I who wrote my dissertation and taught myself to become a good teacher. I have done everything I set out to do, and I have done well for myself, never think anything else!"

Dr Banner is looking at me with an expression I can't decipher, and I realize that my face is hot and my hands are clenched into fists.

"Yes, exactly Bella, you have done everything you set out to do and you have many reasons to be proud of yourself. But do you feel proud? Or do you feel like you just said, as if you are "fighting to keep your head above the water"? How do you feel?"

Suddenly I slump down in the chair with my arms crossed over my middle. How do I feel?

"Empty," I say, in a low, flat voice. "I feel empty."

And now there are memories I don't want to think about hovering at the periphery of my consciousness, and I resolutely push them down. Instead I get a flash back to the night when I had my latest nightmare and woke Edward up. He was standing in my room, upset and anxious to help and all I could think about was my longing to be wrapped up in his arms, to feel protected and cherished and taken care of. I sigh. Needy Bella. But I try to focus on what Dr Banner is really saying.

"I know that one of my problems is that I try too hard. That I am too dependent upon what other people think of me, and try living up to other's expectations of me. I know that you're saying that I need to let go, to let other people into my life more, to accept that other people like me the way I am and are ready to be there for me. And I think I am doing better, really, I do." I clear my voice and try to speak carefully.

"I know that James was..not what a husband should be, that he was cruel to me and that some of the self esteem issues we have talked about here come from the fact that he treated me disrespectfully. And I listen to Rose, and I am really grateful at the way she has been there for me the whole time. I guess I am just feeling a bit…bitter? I feel like I have tried so hard and I don't get anything in return. I have no family, no marriage, no home, right now I feel as if I don't have a career or any friends beyond Rose.." I hear Dr Banner clear her throat and haste to add: "Oh, I know that this is negative and not true, but this is how I really feel. I feel as if my life is over".

Dr Banner inclines her head slightly to the side and watches me intently. "So you are feeling empty, bitter and as if your life is over? If those are your feelings you should acknowledge them, and not push them down. But at the same time you think that these feelings are not the truth about your life? How about you try to tell me what you think is the truth about your life, even if you don't feel it?"

I sigh and crack my fingers, fidgeting in my chair. "Well, I have a job I love that I am good at. I have a father and a mother, even if I hardly ever see them, and we're not really communicating like I wish we would. I have good friends besides Rose, even if they are far away right now, and I have been holding them at arms length, and I have colleagues that I enjoy working with and that I know respect me, even if I haven't talked to them in a long time now. I am reasonably successful at what I do, I am in good health and I am in good shape financially." I twist my fingers together in my lap.

"I guess when I say that my life is over what I mean is that love is over. James said he never loved me, and right now I don't know if I loved him or if he was just some kind of crazy…addiction. I guess I don't know what love is, and now…now I am middle aged and I don't know if it's too late to start over."

I feel hot tears swelling in my eyes, spilling over, and I reach for the tissues on the side table beside my chair. Yeah, this room must have seen a lot of tears..

Dr Banner waits patiently for my sniffles to subside, and then says thoughtfully: "Bella, you are aware of the fact that people your age are forming new love relationships all the time, are you not? There is no way that anyone can tell at what age a person is "too late" in forming a new relationship with someone else. My mother, who is in her eighties, was a widow for fifteen years before she met a new man in her seventies and married him, and they are still happy together, even if they are getting frailer." She pauses.

"There is another issue I would like to raise. Since you started coming here I have noticed that you seem to have been losing weight. I know we have talked about your physical training and how you try to eat healthy food and maintain a routine to encourage healthy sleeping patterns. Are you conscious of having lost weight in the past couple of months?"

Now I blush and twist the wad of paper tissues in my hands. "Yes, I have lost some weight, but not in an unhealthy way: at first maybe I wasn't taking care of myself, because I felt depressed and didn't have an appetite, but I am now, and I am feeling much healthier." I look Dr Banner straight in the eye, smiling.

"I was reading an article the other day about how women my age need to take an interest in their weight, and since I started with the running I have checked my BMI, and it is under the obesity level now, so I shouldn't have to worry about all those weight-related health problems you read so much about in the papers."

Dr Banner smiles at me. "Bella, I hope you know that you were never _obese_ when you came here. I just want to make sure that your weight loss is not a negative health sign. I am glad that you say that you are focusing on taking care of yourself. Now, I would like to talk to you about some of the mental exercises we have discussed earlier and what your experiences are of them.."

The rest of the hour passes swiftly and before I know it I am shaking Dr Banner's hand and leaving her office.

As I head to my car I suddenly feel uncomfortable and exposed, and regret that I didn't bring a jacket with me. I grit my teeth and tell myself that no one is looking my way, that I am as good as invisible and that nothing would draw attention to me even if someone gave me more than a fleeting look. I am what I have always been: average, ordinary, a plain woman now in her middle age who succeeds at one thing eminently – going under the radar.

I still remember the huge relief I felt going from high school in a tiny town to college in a real city in another part of the country: after years of trying to fit in, to be normal instead of subnormal and struggling unsuccessfully to avoid other people's scorn, I was suddenly surrounded by strangers who didn't seem to think there was anything wrong with me, who usually didn't notice me at all.

Suddenly the only distinctive thing about me, my intelligence, my bookishness and my dedication to my studies, was all to my advantage, and I found that some fellow students were asking me to join their study groups because they actually thought I would contribute something. Professors commended me and took an interest in my work, people I admired suggested that I go on to a Masters, then a PhD in comparative lit, encouraged me to take up teaching. I discovered that what I loved most in life – words, books – was something I was really good at, was something I could probably do for a living. I was elated.

Rosalie added the only thing that was lacking – a social life – and for years I was content to tag along with her, to stand on the fringe of her group of smart and beautiful friends, to smile and offer an occasional comment, to listen and laugh at the jokes of others, and revel in the feeling of being okay, of fitting in, without having to work so hard.

With the support of Rosalie I even tried dating, but the fumbling encounters I had left me feeling insecure and dissatisfied. The guys who seemed to gravitate towards me were the nerdy, insecure types, who probably thought I wouldn't brush them off or humiliate them like the Rosalie's of this world. I tried to be kind but firm, and after a date or two I suggested we'd probably be better off as friends. They normally concurred. Rosalie herself tried setting me up with guys from her own set, but they bored me and I bored them, so after a while I hinted that although I appreciated her intentions, it really wasn't worth the time and effort for either party. She huffed, but agreed when she saw that I was serious.

And so my life was better than it had been before, my life was good, until I met James. And then my life was suddenly wonderful. James was everything someone like me wasn't. He was handsome, self-assured, smooth and well-groomed, he had money, connections and in spite of his youth was already someone in the financial world where he moved who made people sit up and take notice. I couldn't believe it at first when he called me and asked me out on a date. I wondered if he had mistaken my number for someone else's, or if someone had set me up with him as a practical joke.

I shrug my shoulders as I pull out into the Friday afternoon traffic and slowly weave my way home. For a while there, I thought that life would be different, that I would be different. But events proved me wrong with time. People don't really change and life is what it has always been: a bitch. All you can do is try to find a quiet corner to rest up between fights, and when your number is up, you just roll with the punches until it's over.

Nietzsche was both right and wrong: "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger" should have been "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger in the end, but first it makes you every fifty shades of fucked-up." I loved James, and living with him - and now living without him - has undoubtedly taught me important lessons and maybe made me stronger, but I can see that it has also made me damaged, possibly for life, as if he was a poison I am unable to get out of my bloodstream.

When I finally get back to the house, I feel exhausted, and as I step into the hall and kick off my shoes, the only thing I want to do is lie down in my bedroom with the lights off and the blinds drawn. But I can hear Edward call my name from the kitchen, and in spite of myself, I smile. Maybe it isn't just the things that nearly kill you that make you stronger. Or maybe things that kill you in a really good way are worth the trouble. Like that lopsided smile and those intense green eyes…

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**A/N: So, do you believe in the accuracy of the expression: "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger"? And what do you think of Rose? Is she the kind of friend Bella needs, or not? Please leave a review and tell me what you think!**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Disclaimer - I don't have a beta, so all the mistakes are mine. Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. I am once again computerless over the weekend, so this comes outside my "normal" posting schedule; Sorry! Thanks to all of you who are reading this story and responding!**

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**Chapter 9**

…_human kind_

_Cannot bear very much reality._

_Time past and time future_

_What might have been and what has been_

_Point to one end, which is always present._

_T.S. Eliot , Burnt Norton._

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**EPOV**

When I get back from work I feel tired, but in a good way. My body is beginning to adjust to the schedule with early mornings and early nights and sometimes a nap in the afternoons, and it wasn't so hard getting up this morning. And I enjoy coming to work, bantering with Charlotte or Carmen, helping Kate out when she is swearing over the computer she is still trying to master, shooting the crap with Jim when he is taking a smoke outside.

Even the work is kind of fun because it is so mindless, easy to do well, quick to get results. Loading the dishwasher, washing pans and wiping down surfaces or mopping the floors is something I can do while thinking of something else, but I can also lose myself in doing it, watching my hands, counting the cups, making sure I cover every square inch of the black-and-white tiles. I have tried my hand at the till as well, and I think Charlotte was kind of impressed with how quickly I got the hang of it.

I don't mind taking orders, talking to the customers, because I do have people skills and I enjoy making someone grumpy smile or changing someone's mind about having something with their coffee by tempting them with the delicious special of the day, cinnamon and apple cupcakes. But I still feel more comfortable behind the scenes, out of sight, cleaning up, fixing plates and keeping out of Jim's way, diving into the restrooms to make sure that they are okay, slipping outside to stretch my back and have a quick coffee break on my own.

Carmen has promised to help teach me my barista skills so that I can help out with making the fancy coffee too, and even if I find the look of the huge Italian coffee machine monster kind of daunting, I also sort of like the idea of taking it on. I always liked a challenge.

The high point today was when I looked up and saw Bella sitting in the corner, her big brown eyes locked on mine as if I was the only person in the room. For a moment there, I completely lost track of where I was going and what I was doing, and I felt this huge, goofy smile, spreading across my face. Just seeing her like that felt so good, her eyes on me like a warm, brief caress across my cheek. My guardian angel.

Then she suddenly blushed and broke eye contact, and I backed out into the kitchen, completely unable to take my eyes off her just yet, until she was obscured from my line of sight again. I am so smitten by this woman, it would be funny if it wasn't so absurd. Charlotte looked kind of quizzical at me and I thought for a minute that she had noticed my behavior, but as she didn't say anything, I decided I was probably just imagining things and there was milk foam on my chin or something.

Before I took off for the day, Kate called me into the office and gave me my week's pay in an envelope. She was sprawled in her desk chair, her fair hair up in a high ponytail and blue smudges from a ballpoint pen on the side of her face, which made me smile. She smiled back at me and waved to me to take a seat across from her.

"So, how have you been? It seems you did good this week, Edward, judging from what I've heard from the others. Now, about Saturday: come in and work 8-5 tomorrow, and then you get Sunday off. Next week I want you to keep working the early shift again, and then we can see about teaching you the routines for closing the shop too, so you can alternate schedules with the rest of us after that as needed. Does that sound okay to you?"

I nod emphatically.

"That sounds great. I have really enjoyed learning my way around this place and I look forward to getting the hang of the rest of it, handling the customers and working the kitchen too, whatever you need, whenever that's convenient. Thanks again for giving me the chance and trying me out."

I shake Kate's hand before I leave, and wave to Charlotte before exiting through the back door.

That's when the low point of this day occurred. As I was leaving I skirted a flock of teenage girls giggling over frappuccinos in the sunshine and my heart caught in my throat when I heard this high-pitched giggle and turned around and saw a tiny, darkhaired girl with her back to me.

For one terrible moment I thought that it was Alice, come back to haunt me, I was ice cold, my heart stuttered and I couldn't breathe. Then she turned her head towards her friend and I caught her half profile and saw that this was not Alice but a generically cute girl around fifteen with upturned nose and too much goth makeup going on.

One of her friends , a redhead in a yellow sundress showing a lot of skin, must have noticed me looking over, because she leaned over and whispered something, and then there was more giggling. I quickly beat a retreat, my stomach churning. Alice, poor little Alice.

_I am on the floor in my room, playing with my new car when I hear the door downstairs and know that Mom and Dad are back from their trip. I immediately jump to my feet, excited to show them the car that I got from the store yesterday with Jessie, the babysitter, and I run down the stairs. _

_I stop abruptly in the hall, where the light is pouring in from the windows around the entrance. Mom and Dad are surrounded by the light, and I can only see their outlines, not their faces. But they are not alone. There is someone standing between them, holding both their hands. _

_A tiny girl, much smaller than myself, with dark hair. She wobbles on her feet, lets go of Moms hand and takes a small step towards me, stretching out her hand in front of her. Instinctively I step forward, and now I can see her face. It is heartshaped, pale, with big dark eyes. She looks at me and smiles. She points to me and emphatically cries "Da!". _

"_Edward." It's Mom's voice, but I am still staring mesmerized at this small, new person, that is going to be my sister. "Edward, this is Alice". _

The memory is vivid in my mind, along with so many other memories, and I don't know if it's the good ones or the bad ones that hurt the most.

I take a long detour on my way home, trying to distract myself by walking around, looking at people, listening in on the conversations of strangers, anything to keep myself from thinking too hard, from remembering too much.

Everywhere I look I seem to see couples holding hands or kissing, families enjoying a day out, friends getting together for a Friday afternoon drink. Everyone seems so connected, so together. I am the only one who is absolutely alone, cut off from my past, without a future.

I swallow back the lump in my throat and for a moment I allow the wave of self-pity and self-disgust to rise and envelop me again. You put yourself in this position Edward, I remind myself. You are the monster. You hurt people, even the people you love most, so you can't be around others anymore. You don't deserve a future .

Yet, unless I kill myself, there will be a countless number of grey days ahead, days like this one when I drift around on the outskirts of the normal lives going on around me, looking in, envying them, holding myself back, trying not to think, trying not to feel.

I hunch my shoulders and head back towards the beach house, because I have nowhere else to go. I remind myself that I can count myself lucky to have these things right now: a place to stay, a job, food, people who show me trust and interact with me. Only, if they truly knew me, they too would turn away from me in disgust.

So, for now, I have to make sure that they don't know the real me. It's okay around Charlotte, Carmen, Jim and Kate, because I don't think that they think twice about who I am – they have taken me at face value and probably forget about me as soon as I walk out of the door of the café.

But when I am around Bella, sometimes I feel an ache in my chest that is acute and physical, a longing to throw my arms around her middle, fall to my knees and bury my face in her shirt and sob out my life's story. I want to tell her the truth, because I feel this connection to her and I feel like I owe her the truth when she has trusted me with so much. But on the other hand, it's Bella's trust I really don't want to lose, and telling her the truth would paradoxically probably do just that.

I snort to myself with derision, as I climb up the steps to the deck. To be perfectly honest, I suspect that the primary reason for my longing to talk to Bella is not concern for her, but a stupid hope that by telling her I would feel better, that somehow she would show me the forgiveness that I deep down inside me long for, but know that no one can give.

She has been so good to me, so compassionate, that somehow I wish I could tell her everything about myself, look into her eyes and hear her say "It's alright Edward. Everything will be alright." Stupid, stupid. Because on so many levels I still know that this is impossible. Nothing will ever be "alright" again.

I let myself into the house, which is empty, and I walk around aimlessly, looking for something to do, opening the fridge, wiping down the counter that doesn't need wiping down, opening the door to the deck to let the fresh air and the sounds from the sea inside. I wonder if I should start dinner, but then Bella hardly ever eats anything, and I'm not really hungry, so I don't feel there's a point.

What I would really like to do in the mood I'm in right now is get pissing drunk and pass out, but that is not an option. There is some hard stuff in the house, but I've never seen Bella touch it, and I don't feel comfortable taking anything when she is not around, so I decide it's just another thing I don't deserve and will have to do without.

I finally head back to my room to take a shower and change, stopping on the way by Bella's door, which isn't closed like it usually is, but stands ajar. Hesitantly, I push the door open and look in. It's a bedroom with windows facing the beach, and there are big trees nearby so that you look out into a sea of green leaves, moving hypnotically with the wind, and beyond them you can almost see the beach and the glinting sea.

The room is big, light and airy, with white walls and warm brown curtains, a purple comforter the only splash of colour in the room, with a huge bed, a nightstand and a comfy chair, and still room for a big, walnut desk by one of the windows. Bella's laptop and some notebooks and papers are stacked on the polished surface.

Without thinking, I take a couple of steps into the room, and let my hand trail over the walls, looking at the prints, touching the furniture. I stop by the bed, and before I know it, I have picked up one of the pillows, and I'm pressing my face into it, inhaling the sweet scent that is all Bella, flowers and rain and new grass. I groan, and the sound startles me so much that I drop the pillow and take a step backwards.

Suddenly I am furious with myself. What am I doing, invading her privacy like this? I stumble on my way out and pull the door roughly behind me but when I cross the hall and continue mindlessly into the kitchen I suddenly hear the key in the lock, and there she is. I call her name as I turn back.

She seems startled to find me peeping out at her through the kitchen door, and I decide to withdraw towards my room, remembering my original intent with a hesitant smile and a small wave of the hand, intending to give her some space.

"Hi, I was just going to take a shower," I say. How was your day?"

She is looking exquisite in a wide-necked blouse that shows off the graceful sweep of her neck and shoulders, and the beautiful lines of her collarbones, her brown hair tumbling down but held back by the sunglasses pushed back on her head. She is wearing a little make-up and some jewelry, and I smile to myself because she is just as stunning as I knew she could be as soon as she comes out of hiding in those hoods.

She seems to catch on to the fact that I am ogling her with some appreciation, because she blushes furiously and looks down, then up again, and gestures to a bag on the floor.

"I just got back from town, and I bought some take-out on the way. Is Thai food OK?"

"Absolutely. I won't be long. Put your feet up – I can help you lay the table in a minute." And I rush off to the shower, stripping off the day's grease and grime with my clothes, feeling my spirits lift at the thought of just having dinner with Bella.

When I walk into the kitchen with my hair still damp and sticking up all over the place, in a white t-shirt and sweatpants, I see the cartons lined up on the counter and plates and glasses waiting, but Bella is out on the deck, leaning on the rail.

I walk out to join her, and as she hears me she turns around and offers me one of a couple of Coronas with a lift of her eyebrows. I take it gratefully, and the cold liquid slides down my throat, dissipating yet another chunk of this afternoon's anxiety. I watch her drinking her beer from the corner of my eye, and I realize that this is the first time I've seen her drink alcohol, barring that small glass of wine she had the first time I cooked her dinner. I wonder idly if it's to do with this health diet she's got going on or if she is on some medication for those anxiety attacks that prevents her from drinking.

We stand in comfortable silence for a while, watching the light change on the water and the last stragglers packing up on the beach, before Bella turns around.

"Let's eat something, shall we?"

We end up sitting on the living room floor watching some old movie that is really fucking funny, drinking Coronas, eating Pad Thai and some spicy vegetable soup, and it's the first time I've seen Bella eat more than half a cup of anything in my presence. She seems relaxed and we laugh at the dialogue and I realize that this is the sort of movie that I would never have watched with any of my buddies at home, since they would have deemed it a chick flick.

When the movie is over, Bella moves up on the couch, complaining that her back gets stiff sitting on the floor, and I lean my back against the couch watching her stretch out and groan, as adorable as a kitten.

"Do you think that's true, then," I ask, really wanting to know. "That men and women can't be friends? That friendship is just a pretend move on the way to getting romantically involved or having sex with someone?"

She opens her eyes and looks at me, frowning and biting her lip.

"I don't know", she says finally, as if giving a verdict in a doubtful case. "I know I have had some male friends that I was never romantically involved with, but I think one of the reasons we became friends in the first place was because we noticed each other and on some level found one another attractive. But that doesn't mean the friendship that we grew into was bullshit or just stalling for second best. I mean, I find my women friends attractive on some level, too, but that doesn't mean I want to sleep with them, right?"

Now I get a slightly uncomfortable visual of Bella kissing one of her attractive female friends, and I pry my mind away from that picture, reaching out for the bottle on the floor in front of me and emptying the last of it in one draw.

"What about you, Edward", Bella asks. "Have you had any female friends?"

I snort, sending some beer up my nose, then cough, before I put the bottle down and give her question some consideration. I don't want to tell her the truth about my relations with the opposite sex, that I spent my junior and senior year as something of a man whore, reaping the fruits of my good looks by taking on most of the admiring throng of teenage girls that came my way. My behaviour was beginning to disgust me long before I made the break and now I don't really want to think about my earlier"conquests". I hedge.

"No, I guess I haven't been close enough to a girl to call her my friend, not since I was little anyway. I've always been incredibly busy with my studies and sports, and except for some dating I've mostly spent my time around other guys."

I briefly think about Alice. For a while there, we were close, really close. But would it be right to call her my "friend"? She was always more, and in the end, less than that. What friend would ever have done to her what I have done? Shitty brother, appalling son, false friend, that's what they will print on my headstone. I sigh.

"So, you agree then?" Bella looks at me with curiosity. "No friendship between the sexes?"

I peel at the label on the bottle, frowning.

"I don't know. Just as the existence of God, I guess just because I don't have any firsthand experience of a thing that's not really argument enough to dismiss the idea of it altogether, right?" I think for a while before I continue.

"I think friendship and attraction and love can be mixed up sometimes, or that the borders between them may be blurry, but that's not saying that I can never be friends with a woman, whether I find her physically attractive or not. And I would like to think that if you fall in love with someone, that person kind of becomes one of your best friends too." I look up at Bella and can't help smiling.

"But if I were to meet an attractive girl, I guess friendship wouldn't be the first thing on my mind. Just saying. I am a guy after all."

Bella giggles, and I draw a hand through my hair, confused and delighted at the sound, because it's so carefree, and because she seems so sad and now I can't wait to make her giggle like that again. I wonder about her, who her friends are, and where they are right now, because since I came here I haven't heard her talk about anyone but Rosalie Hale, the friend who owns the beach house. Why is she all alone here, struggling through her nightmares on her own? Does she have no one? Or is it completely voluntary, this seclusion?

"Rosalie would agree with you on one point: her theory is that every guy is just a guy, and that you shouldn't expect any man to be able to look you in the eye as long as he can look at your boobs." She smirks.

"But she has made a successful career out of that theory, making professional men look very unprofessional just from underestimating her skills as a lawyer because of her beauty." Bella sits up and curls up on the sofa, looking down on me and adds, in a more serious tone.

"I, however, believe that we are human beings first and foremost, and that sexual attraction or love does not need to get in the way of friendship." She hesitates, then adds:

"I agree with you that I truly hope that the person you fall in love with one day will also be a friend. I'm afraid that building a long-term relationship just on superficial things like physical attraction won't work in the end."

And now I get the feeling that she is speaking from personal experience…although she doesn't elaborate. Instead, she gets brisk, and tells me that Rosalie will be dropping in for lunch on Sunday and would like to meet me, and I assure her that this won't be a problem. Apparently there will be contractors coming in too, to look at the deck, but Bella tells me that she will see to it, and that I won't have to bother. I feel slightly hurt, but I resign myself to the fact that since this is not my house, and I am a guest with no right to stay here, I had better not be making any assumptions or try to push for anything.

Instead I get up and gather the dishes together, offering to clean up, although I am really tired now, and aching to go to bed. We end up doing it together, working side by side as usual, and I marvel at the small things, like how slender her hands are, or how the lamp light catches the red glints in her brown hair, or how gracefully she gathers her hair into a bun at the nape of her neck and blows a strand out of her face. It doesn't matter how tired I am, I never tire of looking at her, wondering about what's really going on in her mind.

When I say goodnight and close the door to my room, I hardly see the bed or hear the humming of the waves, it's her words ringing in my ears, her thoughtful face above me in the twilight printed on my mind's eye.

"I truly hope that the person you fall in love with one day will also be a friend." For the first time I ask myself, and there's a drop of dread as well as a spark of joy in the pit of my stomach: am I falling in love with Bella? And will she let me be her friend?

I don't know why I have the dream again that night, maybe because I have been thinking about Alice. It's not bad at first. We are at the beach, Newport perhaps, and I must be about eleven while she is a tiny elf-like eight. It's a grey and windy day, but the wind is warm, the water isn't too cold and we're playing together happily in the shallow water. Carlisle and Esmee are nowhere to be seen, and I just know that this means I'm in charge – I'm the older brother, and I feel proud to be able to be responsible and wise.

We're playing catch, splashing through the water, Alice is laughing and although her legs are shorter than mine, she is quicksilver, gliding through my fingers even when I think I've got my hands on her. Her black hair is wet, and glistening drops spray around her when she shakes her head and runs in her electric blue bathing suit just ahead of me.

Suddenly she dodges me and leaps out into the water, but the sand quickly gives way to deeper water and I see her stumbling, out of her depth. A wave crashes over her and she is pulled further out before I have time to react. I feel my heart plummet in my chest and my throat clenches in panic even as I run after her, crying her name.

Now we are both immersed in the water, and I see her dark head bobbing out of reach, as I struggle to swim towards her, salt water stinging my eyes, filling my nostrils, almost choking me. I see her face turned towards me, her eyes huge and black with panic, as she sputters "Edward! Help me!" but the hand she stretches out to me is too far away, and no matter how hard I strike out with my arms and legs I am unable to reach her.

I wake up gasping for air like a swimmer, my limbs hopelessly tangled in my sheets, in a cold sweat. It's before dawn, still hours before I have to get up, but after I visit the bathroom to splash my face with cold water, I know I won't be able to go back to sleep.

I've had the same dream, or variations on a theme, more nights than I care to remember. We are kids again, and at first everything is fine, but then some danger threatens Alice, and I try to help her but fail. I've seen her drowning before, carried away on floods or tornado winds, trapped in burning buildings or under car wrecks – my perverted imagination is boundless.

Fortunately, I have never had a repeat performance of what actually happened, maybe because even my unconscious mind shies away from the brutal reality. The end result is the same: Alice dies because I can't save her. Actually, even this is a glossing over of the fact of my crime: it was no accident, and I was not unable, but unwilling to help her. I had a chance, and I didn't take it. I am truly a monster.

I am still staring at my tired face in the bathroom mirror, and with a growl I punch the wall and leave the ugly images behind. Walking restlessly through the quiet house I pause outside Bella's room, listening for any signs that she, too, is having a nightmare. I think I hear something, but it's a low murmur, almost too faint to make out.

Carefully, I try turning the door handle, expecting the door to be locked, but surprisingly the door opens soundlessly to the pressure. The room is dark and I can just make out Bella's sleeping form on the bed. I stand stock still for a moment, as I hear her mumbling something to herself, bed clothes rustling. Then she turns on her back, flinging her arm above her head, and I clearly hear her breathing out my name.

"Edward."

I freeze, convinced that now she's awake, and I will have a hard time explaining why the hell I am standing in her bedroom in the middle of the night like some creepy stalker.

But then I realize that she is still talking in her sleep, when she gives off something like a whimper and turns over again, stretching her hand out to the air beside the bed.

"Edward. Don't go."

I swallow hard, a strange feeling of excitement and elation sweeping through me. Bella is dreaming – about me! And in her dream, she doesn't want me to leave her. At least in her dreams, Bella wants me, Bella needs me. I feel weak in the knees, and slowly I sink into the armchair close to the door, where I spend half an hour contemplating Bella's breathing and my own feelings, before I silently leave the room and close the door behind me.

* * *

**A/N: So, the plot thickens – what do you think? Is Edward a creepy stalker? _Can_ men and women be friends? And have _you_ ever had a good dream about Edward? Leave me your opinion in a review and I promise to reply…**


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Disclaimer: I don't have a beta, so all the mistakes are mine. Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. Sorry about the mistake with this chapter - I don't have my computer right now and am working out of temporary places! Summer keeps messing with my posting schedule - Friday is my regular day, but right now I try to get one chapter up around each weekend. Thanks for your patience!

_I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope_

_For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love_

_For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith_

_But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting._

_Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:_

_So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing._

T.S. Eliot, East Coker

**Chapter 10**

**BPOV**

Saturday is different. I wake up around my usual time, visit the bathroom, crawl into my sweats and pull my hair into a ponytail, but when I walk into the kitchen Edward is there, in sweats, waiting for me with a pot of tea ready. This Saturday he starts at eight and this means he has time to accompany me on my morning run, before taking off for the café.

Running with Edward is…different. He doesn't try to engage me in conversation, probably aware of the fact that I don't have the focus or the stamina to make small talk while running. He himself seems effortless, adjusting his pace to mine, finding that flowing movement, with a spring in his step, that I have always envied in others but so seldom seem to find myself.

I am at the same time more and less self-conscious running with Edward. More, because I can't help feeling older and sweatier and less co-ordinated. But also less, because with him at my side, he is suddenly all I can think of.

His breathing, his muscular thighs, the long hair flopping into his eyes, his arms, his half-clenched hands, his chest under the clinging t-shirt, the clean, salty smell of his sweat, enhancing that sweet, musky smell that is all Edward – everything distracts me from thoughts of the inadequacies of my own body and paradoxically, I find myself enjoying my run, hypnotized into that rhythm I sometimes find, this time by his mere presence. Running with Edward becomes a kind of zen experience, transported to another plane, where he fills my consciousness, pressing out everything else that usually disturbs me.

We turn around before we reach the café, and run back to the house, in time for him to have a shower and a quick breakfast before he heads out again. I linger over my tea, enjoying the ache in my limbs and the smell of my newly-washed hair drying on my shoulders, and I look out at the big blue sky, my head filled with images of him. And I think to myself – what if Rosalie has a point? Maybe it would actually be possible for someone like me to have a relationship with someone like Edward? I blush as I remember my dream last night.

I was standing on the beach with Edward in the moonlight, a balmy breeze blowing across my skin, no one else in sight. I was wearing a dress of some kind, with spaghetti straps and a billowing skirt of some gauzy material, much like Ginger Rogers in some old black-and-white movie. Edward, inexplicably, is wearing dress pants and nothing else, his naked chest luminous and pale in the white light of the moon. I feel his arm around my waist, and then I am leaning into him, tracing his shoulders, his collarbones and his chest lightly with my fingers, feeling him shudder slightly as I skim over his nipples and trace my other hand into the hair at the nape of his neck.

He bends his head to me, following my cheek and jawbone with his nose, lightly nuzzling my ear and neck with his lips, and I tingle all over, pressing myself to him. But just as I am sure we are about to kiss, he steps away from me and slowly backs away across the sand, his gaze still fixed on my face. "Edward!" I cry. "Edward. Don't go!", but he smiles sadly and evaporates into the night. Instead, I find myself dancing across a hall with a shining floor under a starry sky with Fred Astaire in tails and a red cape, while a crowd of my students take notes, watching us.

I sigh. It's the usual, cock-blocking type of dream, but I haven't had that type of dream involving Edward before. Clearly the amount of daydreaming I have been trying to suppress is now surfacing when I sleep instead. As I clean up after breakfast and get ready for another day of work, I give the matter of a relationship an attempt at serious, objective consideration.

Rosalie's point , that she's been trying to bring home almost every time we meet, is that since I am on the rebound from a too long and too awful marriage to the wrong person, a way for me to heal my self esteem and get me up and running again would be to have a brief but physically rewarding relationship with someone who cares enough about me to make me feel good about myself. That, in itself, seems like an impossible paradox, which is what I have been trying to tell her.

First, because of my marriage and divorce, I am hurting, and I am afraid to let anyone inside my defences. Dating would require me to at least _pretend_ to want to let someone in, which I really don't. Second, I have never been cavalier about sex, the way Rosalie implies I should be: pleasure, for me, has always required a certain amount of psychological intimacy first, and for that to happen I need to feel trust, which brings me back to the part about letting someone inside my defences. Casual, enjoyable sex, clearly a no go.

And then there is…Edward. While I feel an inexplicable sense of trust with him, which is quite effortless and natural, and while I am also attracted to him, much more than I want to admit even to myself (I shift uncomfortably in my seat while the laptop starts up), I can't see an actual relationship happening. There are simply too many obstacles in the way.

First, there are the undeniably tenuous circumstances under which we live: I am on temporary leave in a borrowed house, and come August, my "real" life is waiting for me back in San Francisco. He is on the run from God knows what, and needs to get his life back on track before anything else, probably in a completely different part of the country, where he can finish his college education and start working on his real relationships.

But even if I try to dismiss these realities, I still feel pessimistic. What would have happened even under the most ideal circumstances? What if I had met Edward at some singles bar, or university function, or, God forbid, he had turned up as one of my PhD students? Would he have looked at me twice? Would I have given him more than a fleeting, admiring glance? There is the difference in age, life experience, where we are at in life: he is starting out, while I am unsure if I have what it takes to start my life over after a midlife collapse.

And then Edward is so obviously out of my league to begin with. I met guys like him when I was hanging out with Rosalie in college, the handsome, self-assured, sometimes academically brilliant young men, who normally never gave me more than some minutes of polite conversation before moving on. Rosalie was their romantic target, their social equal, and they knew it.

I took some psychology classes in college, and I remember the experiment where people were asked to grade photographs of men and women according to how attractive they were, and then other people were asked to match the photographs into "likely couples". The test showed what most people instinctively know: that it is the Edwards and the Rosalies of this world who belong together.

I stare blindly out through the window over my desk, out at the rustling leaves, dark green and light green, dappled with sunlight. I think back to our conversation the other night. Edward is mature for his years, smart, considerate, a good companion, but he is a guy. And like a guy, when he sees a pretty girl, friendship is not the first thing on his mind. But he has gone out of his way to be a good friend to me. And this should tell me all I need to know, that even the idea of a "fling" is ridiculous and disgusting.

He may be in a desperate position in his life right now, but he is surely not desperate enough to let himself be seduced (if I were even capable of such a thing) by a woman twice his age, just to make sure he can have a place to stay? Heck, anyone in their right mind would take him in! And it would be distasteful and immoral of me even to imply that his staying here is contingent upon his sleeping with me. I shudder silently as I imagine the horror on his face while I simpering try to convey the message. He would run for his life, and he would be right to run!

No, I think sternly to myself, as I rifle through my notebooks to find the one pertaining to Twelfth Night, I will put Rosalie's nonsense out of my head, before it messes with my feelings anymore, and get on with my work. And tomorrow Rosalie will come over for lunch, and once she meets Edward she will see that he is not some kind of seedy escort boy, and she will put these kind of thoughts out of her head too. Unless, of course…

I hesitate and feel a shadow of fear pass through me; unless she takes one look at him and realizing his potential decides to ask him to chuck the café and come take a menial desk job at her firm. Through the years, there has been a trickle of law students doing internships at Rosalie's firm, and some of them have been extremely good-looking young men. I don't have any proof that anything inappropriate has ever taken place, and Rosalie herself would never stoop to sexual harassment in her work place, but I know for a fact that she has dated, however briefly, at least two of these interns after their internship was terminated. Rosalie has never had any problems dating younger men; she herself is way too confident, and she knows the effect she has always had on men of all ages.

I push these thoughts away, and set about dissecting the relationships of Olivia and Viola, with a fury that is not merely academic. Unrequited love – my specialty. Outside my window, the leaves are still rustling, their disquiet like the restless running of tiny feet across a parquet floor.

**EPOV**

Saturday morning isn't as busy as the weekday mornings, but around eleven the place is buzzing with people out enjoying the beautiful weather, meeting friends for coffee, heading out for a weekend at the beach. I postpone my lunch break to help Carmen out, and she shoots me a grateful smile with brilliant white teeth in her brown, handsome face.

"Wanna come out for a drink with us tonight?" she says over her shoulder, as I am passing her by with a load of dirty cups. "Kate and me and some friends are meeting up at eight to check out a new place over on Madison. They have Margarita night tonight!" Another brilliant smile, and I hesitate briefly, going into the kitchen.

"Thanks for the invite, Carmen. Let me think about it, alright? I might have plans for tonight." "Bring the plans, Edward!" she laughs, as I duck and run for cover in the kitchen.

Carmen is nice, but I'm not sure I'm up for this – it might mean complications. I don't have a valid ID, and I don't know if that place is carding on a regular basis, probably on a Saturday night. And while I enjoy working with the girls, I'm not sure if I should get too friendly with them: once you get close to people, they start expecting things from you, answers, confidences, little heart-to-hearts. It's tiresome keeping your defences up, keeping your stories straight.

And I don't want to bring Bella to a night out drinking with my friends from work, she is someone I want to keep to myself, compartmentalized in the safe bubble that is the beach house. And actually, that is another reason I am hesitant to go out with Carmen and her friends tonight.

I have been toying with the idea of taking Bella out for a meal, now that I have some cash again. Just a quiet dinner at some small place, nothing fancy, but a gesture saying that I want to take care of her too. I've been talking to Jim, the cook, and he has recommended an Indian restaurant that does good vegetarian dishes, and which isn't too far away from the beach. I just haven't figured out how to ask Bella out. Is it a date, or will that make her uncomfortable? Can I just leave it up to her to put a label on it? A little after 1:30 I take a belated lunch break, and bring my sandwich and lemonade with me to a bench with a view of the palm trees and walkway along the beach.

People are playing beach volley ball, fooling around in the water skating or strolling in the sun. It really is a beautiful day. While I eat I enjoy the feeling of the sun on my skin, the breeze from the water and the sounds surrounding me of kids playing, music from passing cars blasting away, gulls crying. I'm in the middle of a lot of life going on around me, and while I feel like I am on the outside of everything, I can still look on and enjoy it vicariously. I'm not thinking, not feeling really, just being.

Suddenly, I'm aware of someone sitting down next to me on the bench, and when I look over I'm surprised to see Kate nursing a cup of coffee. She's dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt and must have just come in for the day because I haven't seen her earlier. She meets my gaze and smiles, but doesn't say anything, and so we sit in silence for a while, just sharing a break. Then Kate says, lightly, with her eyes still on the beach:

"I heard Carmen was asking if you wanted to come along tonight for a drink. No obligations, but if you want to I think you should come. And bring Bella. I haven't talked to her much this week. It would be nice if she came along. She seems like a great lady. You're staying with her, right?"

Her eyes are blue as the sky and innocently open as she turns her handsome face to me, but I think I hear something that sounds like a warning behind her words. I speak slowly and clearly, to avoid any misunderstanding.

"Yes, Bella really is a great lady, which is why she's letting me lodge at her house for now. I will tell her you asked, but it's entirely up to her if she wants to come. Since I've promised her to help her around the house in my free time I usually let her decide, so if she's already made plans and needs me for something else, that takes priority. Maybe another time?"

We stare at one another, my stare is hard, Kate's is…amused. Then she looks away and I relax slightly, but tense up again with her next comment.

"So, Edward, what happened? How come you ended up here as a beach bum? You're a bit too young to be running away from child support now, aren't you?"

I slump forward and roll the wrapper from my sandwhich into a tight ball between my palms.

"I don't like to talk about it, Kate. Do you really need to know?"

Her wide open blue gaze is on me again, and I feel exposed and vulnerable, cold in the warm sun.

"Edward, I don't know you, and I have no right to pry but I just want to know the basic facts. Are you wanted by the police or did you have a bad break up with your girl friend? I've given you a job, and I see you hanging out with Bella, and I just feel the need to know that this is going to be okay. I don't need the story of your life, but I would like to know something of what you did before you came here."

I sigh, drop the trash into the trashcan by the bench and stand up, dragging my hands through my hair.

"Walk with me, Kate." I pause before I continue quietly, my eyes on the water because I don't want to look at her face. " I don't think I owe you to spill my guts, but I am grateful for this job and I'll tell you why I'm in a spot right now."

As Kate rises I start strolling down, crossing the walkway, and going down to the water. The wind and the sounds of the crashing waves make a backdrop of sound that makes it unlikely anyone passing by will hear what we're saying. As Kate catches up and starts walking alongside with me I angle my body towards her so that she will hear me better.

"It's a long story, but I'll try to keep it brief. My parents divorced when I was younger, I lived with my Mom when my Dad died, but my stepdad was an asshole and we never got along. I finally went to college with the money my Dad left me, happy to get away for four years and I hardly ever came home after that. But then I had a change of plans this spring break, and turned up at their house, it wasn't planned and they weren't expecting me. Mom was at home, she had bruises and a cut lip and that's when I found out that he had been beating up on her. I don't know how long it might have been going on. I never saw that happen before. I couldn't believe it, and I was livid. I sent my Mom off to her sister's, told her to keep away, and then I waited until he got home and confronted him." I clench my jaw, speaking about it.

"It was bad. He's always been a bastard to me, but I thought he loved her and treated her okay. Obviously, that wasn't the case anymore. We came to blows, and I knocked him down, but he fell badly and hit his head and passed out. There was blood, everywhere." I shudder at the thought of all the blood.

"I panicked. I called an ambulance, then took off, didn't even take my things, just walked out of the house and didn't look back. I jumped on a bus with the cash I had, then started hitch-hiking across the country. I just wanted to disappear. I figured I couldn't go back to school, because I didn't know how badly hurt my stepdad was or if he set the cops on me. So, to answer your question, I don't know if I'm wanted by the police or not. And I don't know if I want to find out."

This is where I need to look at Kate, to make sure that she believes me, so I do. Her eyes are narrowed and there's an expression on her face I can't read. She breaks eye contact first, and we walk in silence for a while. Then she asks:

"Did you try calling your mom? Could you talk with her? Find out what happened? She must be worried about you, no matter what happened to her husband."

I shrug. "I'm not ready for that. I know she should be okay with her sister even if that asshole came out of hospital a day later. Her sister is a tough lady and she would never let her go back once she saw that black eye on her. And I don't care what he said to the cops when he woke up, if he made it. When they found out he's been beating her, they would take whatever he says with a grain of salt. And anyway, in all those years, she never stood up for me. I've done more for her than she ever did for me. We were finished with each other a long time ago." And this is the truth.

Kate sighs. "Things don't always work out the way we think, Edward. She could be back with him right now and in real danger, if he's abusive. Or he could be hurt or dead, but then you're probably in a lot of trouble even if the police labeled it an accident. Running doesn't look good to the law and it doesn't solve anything. Sooner or later, you'll want to go back and connect with your family, get your things back, finish school. You're no Jason Bourne who can go around the world with a different identity every year. You need to get back to your life and face up to what happened. The sooner the better."

Just as I'm clenching my hands in my pockets, starting to think that I will have to take the next bus out of town, she continues, in a low voice:

"But I won't push you. It's your responsibility, your life. You're an okay guy. Keep doing a good job here for a while, show us that we're doing the right thing in giving you a shot. Try calling your mom. Find out what actually happened. Then you can decide what to do next."

She quickly turns her head, remembering something: "Have you told Bella?"

I shake my head. "Not yet. There hasn't been much time. But I'll have to, I guess. It's just that she seems to have a lot going on in her life and I don't want to burden her with my shit."

Kate looks away. The café is just up ahead.

"I don't really know her, Edward, but I think you're right that she is a very private person and keeps things to herself. But she let you in. She deserves to know what's going on with you, especially if it will mean trouble to her if someone found out you're staying with her. You'll have to decide when it's a good time to tell her." She gives me a small smile and gestures with her head. "Let's go back to work."

I put my hand on her arm, briefly. "Kate, please don't talk to anyone about what I said, okay? Let me decide whom I tell and when. Please." I give her my best pleading look. She doesn't exactly melt, but her eyes soften some and she nods in agreement.

"Fine, we'll keep this between us for now. But remember what I said?" She gives me a light tap on the shoulder and jogs ahead of me, to the kitchen entrance.

I am left standing alone, feeling my tense shoulders, willing my body to relax and myself to believe that everything will come out alright. Some things are broken beyond repair, but I have to believe that what little I have right now won't be destroyed too. That somehow, it will all be alright.

A/N: So what do you think? Is it true that couples tend to pair up according to their level of physical attractiveness? Is Bella right? Would you be wary of a relationship with a big age difference or not? And what would you have done if you were Kate right now? Run for the nearest police station? Put your home address in the envelope with Edward's next salary? Please leave a review if you can: I love to hear from you!


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Disclaimer: I don't have a beta, so all the mistakes are mine. Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. Thank you to all who are reading and commenting on this story - you put a big smile on my face!**

* * *

**Chapter 11.**

_Trippers and askers surround me,_

_People I meet, the effect upon me of my early life or the ward and city I live in, or the nation,_

_The latest dates, discoveries, inventions, societies, authors old and new,_

_My dinner, dress, associates, looks, compliments, dues,_

_The real or fancied indifference of some man or woman I love,_

_The sickness of one of my folks or of myself, or ill-doing or loss or lack of money, or depressions or exaltations,_

_Battles, the horrors of fratricidal war, the fever of doubtful news, the fitful events;_

_These come to me days and nights and go from me again,_

_But they are not the Me myself._

Walt Whitman, Song of Myself

* * *

**BPOV**

I am just standing at the counter, preparing the makings of a vegetarian meat loaf for lunch tomorrow, when I hear Edward in the hall, calling out loudly as usual to warn me that he's coming in. Either he thinks I have weak nerves, or he's wary of catching me walking around in a towel or something. As if I would ever walk around exposing myself even in the safety of my own home. I scoff mentally at the idea. My mother may have been a little careless but my father never showed his face outside his bedroom door unless he was fully clothed, and I am his daughter.

I smile at him over my shoulder when he comes into the kitchen, a bit rumpled-looking after his day of work. I quietly marvel every time I see him again, at his wonderful, tired green eyes, his soft, messy hair, the tall, lanky shape of him, the way his jeans hang on his hips, and how long his fingers are when he spreads his hands on top of the counter, leaning in to watch what I'm doing.

"This is for tomorrow lunch. I told you that Rose is coming over, right? My friend, slash, landlady? I'm making vegetarian meatloaf, so I thought I could just order some takeout for dinner tonight, if that's okay? What do you feel like having?"

Edward smiles at me, and I feel sparks going off in my chest and in my belly, in the back of my knees, and deep down in my centre – his smile is like a glass of champagne, weakening and exhilarating at the same time.

"Isn't that a contradiction in terms – vegetarian meatloaf?" he mocks me. "What are you putting in there, fake meat?"

I bump his shoulder with my shoulder, since my hands are busy chopping nuts.

"Shut up, you know nothing of the finer points of vegetarian cooking, you heathen. This is delicious, made of lentils, chick peas and nuts and there is nothing in there that you won't like, just so you know. If you want to help instead of disrupting my concentration, please oil that pan for me."

He looks around, nods, and then goes to wash his hands before helping out. Wonderful what working in a kitchen all day will do for a man's sense of hygiene. When he returns he is in his t-shirt and I watch surreptitiously how the muscles in his forearms move as he oils the pan, then drains the chickpeas when the alarm on the stove goes off. His brow is furrowed and he looks a bit preoccupied, but I think to myself that he will tell me if it's any of my business.

"Look, Bella" he says as he leans against the counter next to me, his arms folded across his chest. "I had an idea. Will you let me take you out to dinner tonight, after we've finished here? I thought it would be nice to get out of the house for a change. There's an Indian restaurant just a couple of blocks away that is supposed to be really good. Mostly vegetarian. What do you say?"

I'm flustered, but try not to show it. Not only by his physical proximity, but by the thought of going out somewhere. With Edward. In public. Sure, we've been on the beach, to the grocery store and at the diner together, but we have never…gone out together. This is new. Of course, it's not a date or anything, it's just…dinner, but all the same…

I bite my lip and hear myself answering "Yes, that would be nice. This will be baking in the oven for 45 minutes or an hour or so, but then we can go. Do you want to take a shower or something?"

When I look up at him, I am shocked at the radiant look on his face, like a kid on Christmas eve.

"Really? That's great! No, I'll take my shower after we're done, then we can take it together, I mean" he flusters and almost blushes "we can shower at the same time..if you want to take a shower, I mean, it's not like you need a shower, you smell good.."

I laugh, and he breaks off, and grins at me. "Sorry, that didn't come out right, did it? Let me help you finish here, Bella, and then we can get ready to go out while the so called meatloaf is baking in the oven, okay?"

We work together for another fifteen minutes until all the ingredients are mixed together and smoothly distributed in the pan, the kitchen is clean and the pan is baking in a large pan of hot water in the oven, then we separate each to our rooms to get ready. After my shower I quickly comb and dry my hair, moisturize and stay in front of the mirror long enough to put on a little make up, hesitate, but use the kohl pencil I hardly ever use, to accent my eyes. I have no idea what to wear, so I throw on a big white Oxford shirt that some ex of Rosalie's left behind in a cupboard and that I feel comfortable in, a favourite khaki knee-length skirt and some strings of beads and turquoises that Rose gave me. This, and a pair of sandals will have to do: I don't want to spend the evening feeling uncomfortably dressed up. I turn my back on the closet mirror, determined not to look. Whatever I would see would not be good enough, and it's not relevant.

When we meet again, in the now fragrant kitchen, I almost blush at the sight of him in a button-down shirt with sleeves rolled up, and khakis. How can he be so impossibly handsome, so at home in his own, beautiful body? His face is flushed and his hair still damp after the shower, and once again I think how unfair it is to have those huge eyes and long lashes wasted on a guy, although his angular jaw and smooth-shaven cheeks are all man.

His long hand trails nervously through his hair as he watches me, his mouth slightly open as if he is about to say something and I turn away to turn off the oven and put a clean towel over the nut loaf to hide my embarrassment. Maybe he is already reconsidering this move? Casually, I say over my shoulder "So, are you sure about this? Do you still want to go out? This smells delicious, doesn't it?"

Before I can move I can feel him behind me, and then his hands are on my arms and his head is lowered so that his chin is on my shoulder. He is so close I can feel his warmth against me all the way to my feet, and the warmth radiating from the oven against my stomach. It feels intimate and strangely…safe..in spite of the fact that I am tingling all over with my awareness of his physical proximity.

"Mmmm, you're right, it does smell amazing." He turns me around, gently, and takes a step back to give me some more room, his hands hovering in the air as he lets go of my arms, and there's a soft smile on his face. "But so do you, Bella. And I really, really want to take you out tonight. Please let me take care of you, okay? Just for tonight?"

How can he know me so well, know my doubts and my fears? I swallow. His eyebrows go up in a question, and I can't do anything except nod, because I'm not sure what my voice would sound like coming out right now.

When he steps away from me and turns around, it's relief and disappointment all rolled into one, until he casually takes my hand in his, and I light up like fireworks on the inside again. We walk to the restaurant through an evening that is fragrant with summer smells, hot pavement, sea and sage brush, comfortable in each other's company, not needing to speak. People move around us in the street, but right now I don't know if they're looking at us and I don't care. He doesn't let go of my hand for a moment, and I feel a smile tugging on my lips so hard that I don't know why I don't burst out laughing out of sheer giddiness. I am going out on a date. With Edward.

* * *

**EPOV**

The restaurant is not quite what I expected: it's overdoing the concept of an Indian restaurant to the point where it's faintly ridiculous, an explosion of red, pink, gold and orange, tassels and hangings and beads and statues everywhere, and a raga playing in the background. Even the staff is dressed to match, in saris and wide trousers and Nehru jackets, with make-up and glistening dark hair. I can't make my mind up whether it 's funny and quaint or just stupid, as we get a table for two at the back of the restaurant behind a woven screen. Bella is looking around and smiling when she slides into the booth across from me, and I feel myself mirroring her smile. She looks absolutely lovely tonight. It took my breath away when I saw her in the kitchen, her eyes incredibly big and dark, wearing a white men's shirt that vividly brought back a fantasy of mine I had the other day of Bella walking around the house wearing nothing except my dress shirt. I notice that a button has come undone, and I can't keep from sneaking very ungentlemanly peeks at the top of her cleavage.

She catches my eye and her eyebrows go up in a question. "What are you thinking?"

I grin. "I'm thinking that it's funny that we match." She looks down at her clothes, notices the button, blushes and buttons up, then looks up at me and smiles. "White shirt and khaki bottoms. Yes, I see, that is funny. Maybe we're spending too much time together?"

"Not at all, great minds think alike, that's all. What were you thinking? You were smiling."

She looks around the room again and smirks. "I was thinking that this restaurant is a little bit too self-satisfied with its own cleverness. Post-modern. I hope the food doesn't match the décor."

"Match, as in being full of artificial food coloring, or match as in being over the top and faintly ridiculous?"

Bella laughs, and it's a soft sound I like to hear. "Both, actually. I love Indian food, but I rarely find any good places, so I do some Indian cooking at home when I get the craving."

I shift in my seat a little, and turn my attention to the menu. "This place should be good, though, judging from what I've heard. And they just recently opened, which should mean they are still trying harder, just to attract customers. What looks good to you?"

Bella frowns and concentrates on the menu too. "Well, I usually try not to eat too much after six o'clock, but I would like to try the Palak Paneer and the Ladies' Finger Curry with okra. Would you mind sharing with me, because I don't think I can finish it by myself?"

I smile. How can someone with such a patent love of food eat so little? It seems perverse. "Sure, I'm really hungry and I don't mind trying a little bit of everything. How about I order the Butter chicken and some naan bread, and then I can take whatever you don't want from your vegetarian dishes?"

At the same moment a waitress appears at our table, smiling and asking for our orders, and I tell her what we've decided on. I turn to Bella again. "So what do you want to drink with that?" This is the question that could get sticky, if we're going to order alcohol and they want to check my age, since I don't have an ID. The waitress interrupts me. "Unfortunately, we don't have a license yet to serve alcohol, so there are only soft drinks on the menu. There is a bar next door."

Bella shakes her head. "No, really, I prefer water with spicy food anyway. Just ice water is fine for me."

I order a non-alcoholic beer, and that's that. I relax and prepare to enjoy myself.

"So tell me a little more about yourself. You seem really into food, and you're a good cook. When did you learn to cook? What are your favourite foods? How come you never want to have dinner with me?" Bella smiles at my questions.

"Really Edward, I am having dinner with you right now." She sighs. "I learned to cook when I was young. I was living with my mother who wasn't the most organized person, so I ended up learning how to cook once I was fed up with her experiments. I guess I caught some of her enthusiasm for trying new things though, because as soon as I came across something new I liked I tried to get the hang of how you would do it properly. You can find some really interesting cook books if you go browsing among old used books, did you know? So I learned to cook Italian from a classic cook book by Marcella Hasan, and French from Julia Childs, and Indian from Madhur Jaffrey, and vegetarian from Crank's in London…it was a lot of fun."

She is tracing the table cloth with the end of her fork, thoughtfully.

"I've always enjoyed cooking for others more than just cooking for myself, so living alone hasn't really encouraged my interest in cooking big meals twice a day. And now that I am getting on for middle age I decided to start watching my weight and try to set healthy habits, that's all. I don't get as hungry in the evenings anymore, the way I imagine you do: guys eat a lot more, don't they?"

"So you haven't always been a vegetarian? It's not an ethical thing? You don't feel sorry for the animals?" I probe, curious to know more now that she is opening up to me.

She smiles at me again, and her brown eyes are exquisite, reflecting gold in the yellow light of the table lamp.

"Oh, I've been a vegetarian forever. It was one of those ideas of Renee's that kind of stuck with me, even after she abandoned it. Although I do eat fish occasionally, I'm not a purist. It's more about me not eating things I couldn't bear to kill myself. I could probably kill a shrimp or a fish if I had to, but I'm way too squeamish to kill a rabbit or a cow. I can't stand the sight of blood, it makes me faint."

She wrinkles her nose in the most adorable way. I want to reach out and touch it, but I don't.

The waitress arrives with our order, and we set about happily tasting the food and redistributing bits of this and that between our plates. The restaurant is slowly filling up, but behind our screen we are partially hidden from the rest of the guests and it feels strangely intimate, as if it were only the two of us.

Bella hums appreciatively and actually moans when she tastes the spinach, which makes me shift uncomfortably in my seat, thankful for the table between us. How can she affect me so much?

Bella looks up at me and catches me staring at her, drops her gaze and blushes.

"What, do I have food on my face?" and she starts dabbing furiously with her napkin on her chin, until I shake my head and reach out a hand to still her movement, which makes her drop both her napkin and her hand into her lap really quickly. I've noticed this about her so many times, how she keeps her distance to people and seems uncomfortable to be touched. I curse myself silently. I must remember to always give her space, to not touch her until she tells me it's okay.

Earlier, in the kitchen, leaning into her, enjoying her warmth and her incredible fragrance, I completely forgot myself and almost hugged her, until I noticed how stiff she seemed and her deer-in-headlights expression. I considered it a victory when she allowed me to hold her hand in mine during our walk to the restaurant, even though I longed most of all to put my arm around her and pull her into my side.

She clears her voice, getting ready to change the subject, looking at me. I think she is trying to get her courage up to ask me something, and I straighten my back, mentally going through all the things I can't tell her, and all the things I want to tell her. It's ironic how we can both be so reticent and yet so comfortable together. She is my savior, yet I wish we had met in another time and another place, before my life turned to shit. I owe her. Just, not the truth. Not that.

"So, Edward, there are a lot of things I would like to talk to you about, but honestly I don't know what will make you uncomfortable. Can I ask anything about your past? Or about your plans for the future? Without coming across as nosy or reproachful? I would really like to get to know you, but I don't know how to do it without making you feel as if we're playing twenty questions?" I can't help smirking at the way almost everything she says comes out as a question.

"Maybe we could play twenty questions, then?" I ask. "As long as either one of us knows that we don't have to answer all of them. If we don't feel comfortable, we'll say "pass". Would that be okay by you?" I polish off the last of the delicious naan bread, with the okra sauce, raising my eyebrows in a question. She waves dismissively to indicate that the rest of the food is all mine and nods her head.

"Yes, that's fine. Let me go first, all right?" She squares her shoulders and I notice again how her bra is faintly visible underneath the thin white material of her shirt, and how lovely the collarbones and the little hollow at the base of her throat look to me. Oh, how I would love to nuzzle that throat. I try to focus on her voice instead, as I scrape the plates and pile up the last of the rice.

"Did you have a happy childhood?" Now she's leaning her chin on her hands and looking at me intently, and it makes me feel slightly uncomfortable.

"Yes and no." I reply. "My turn."

Bella frowns at me. "Hey, if that's all I'm going to get, I want to rephrase my question! Tell me about one happy childhood memory you have."

I think back, chewing and furrowing my brow in concentration. Not that it's so impossible to conjure up happy memories, I'm just trying to sort them in their context, remembering what not to say.

"Alright, here's one: when my mother started teaching me to play the piano. I was 4 or 5 years old and I watched her play, and I wanted to do it too. She took me seriously and put me on her lap and showed me how to hold my hands, and which keys to press. She taught me how to play Chopsticks. Although it took a while for me to get it right, my hands were too small." I smile at the memory.

"So, you play the piano?" Bella looks surprised and pleased. "Or did you stop years ago, like most kids do?"

I shake my head. "No, I really liked being able to learn to play, and I got good at it too, eventually. Although I haven't played a lot in the past six months." I leave it at that.

"Okay, follow-up question: will you play for me sometime?" Bella is smiling, a mischievous smile that I can't resist, and I smile right back at her when I promise her: "Sure."

She beams at me, until I tell her that she just had three questions, and now it's definitely my turn. She runs the tip of her tongue across her lower lip in a nervous gesture, and the mere sight of it is a turn-on for me. So fragile, Cullen.

"Okay, so would you tell me something more about your family, like where are your parents now?" I ask.

This seems to be a safe topic with Bella, because she smiles and looks a little wistful as she starts telling me about her father, a chief of police, who is nearing his retirement in a small town in the Pacific Northwest, while her mother is in Florida, managing a new age-type shop and doing handicraft while her step-father is a moderately successful baseball coach. I can't help feeling relieved that her cop father isn't living in LA, threatening to drop in on us any day. As far as I know there are no warrants out for me, but I don't want to get too close to any member of the police force.

"I don't see them as often as I would like, but we keep in touch on the phone. Charlie is not much of a talker, but he likes to check in on me, to see that I'm okay. Renee is always curious to know what I'm up to and she has a million stories to tell: usually about some new scheme of hers to improve people's health with orchid roots or make lawn chairs out of seashells, or some other harebrained idea. "

Bella breaks off as the waitress comes around to clear our plates, and I'm mildly surprised to see that we, correction, I, finished off everything. The waitress hovers for an unnecessary amount of time to check if we liked our food and if we want dessert, but we settle for Indian chai (Bella's idea) and then Bella is finally free to resume her tale again.

"I moved around a lot with my mother when I was a kid, but I went to high school in Phoenix, living with my mother, and then graduated from the high school in my father's home town when she went on the road with Phil, after they got married. And then I received a scholarship to the University of Chicago so I moved there for college. Later I did my Masters there and my PhD work at Berkeley, and the rest is history as they say..what about you? Did you enjoy the whole college experience?" She looks at me, unconsciously tugging at the hair at the nape of her neck, her eyes intent on me with a hint of trepidation. "Is this safe?" she seems to ask me with her eyes. "Can I ask you this?"

This is one of the areas that are tricky, because I can't tell her too much. Two steaming cups of fragrant Indian tea arrive, and I take the opportunity to hold on to my answer until the waitress has finally left us alone again, after fussing over the table cloth and offering us more water.

"Yes, high school wasn't much fun, so college was a welcome change of scene. " I smile, then feel my eyes tear up as the spicy fumes hit my face when I inhale and sip the tea. It's sweet and laced with milk, tasting of cardamom and cinnamon, and I decide that I don't like it much. "But it's really still my turn, Bella. How did you like Chicago?"

She seems to be savoring her tea, or maybe she is being evasive, the cup a shield between her face and me. When she speaks, she is looking down, her voice is low, and I lean forward over the table to catch what she's saying.

"Yes, college was a relief for me too. I really enjoyed studying, and living in a big town again, where you could be more ... anonymous. I've never been good with people, but being with other students who loved the same things that I loved made things easier. You didn't really have to fit in all the time, because there were all kinds of people there. I also liked living by the lakeside, even if the wind was brutal in the winter time, and I took the opportunity to go to concerts and museums a lot in my free time. I really love the Chicago Art museum. Have you seen it? And Chicago is where I met Rosalie, who's coming to lunch tomorrow."

She looks up at me again, and her face is so close I can see every eye lash, every little speck of gold and cinnamon brown in her eyes. It's startling – every time I realize just how beautiful she is and how lucky I am to be sitting here with her, it's almost as if I forget to breathe. I release a shuddering breath and tell myself to focus.

"Edward, I think I should tell you about Rosalie." She puts her cup down, and laces her fingers together in front of her. "Rosalie is very smart and very assertive, but she can be..a bit harsh. She always says what she means, and she doesn't trust people easily. I just don't want you to take it too personally if she starts giving you a hard time tomorrow. She is just being protective of me. I have explained to her that I want you to stay at the house, but she wants to make sure for herself that everything is alright."

I shrug my shoulders, even if I feel a bit queasy at the thought of having someone poking around in my shady past again, asking questions I can't or won't answer.

"That's absolutely fine by me, Bella. I wouldn't trust myself either, if it was the other way around. I'm glad you have friends looking out for you. I just hope you don't feel that my staying here has caused you any trouble. Please tell me if there is anything at all that makes you uncomfortable."

I look at her, a pleading look, because on the one hand I kind of wish she would tell me to get the fuck away from her, because that is what I feel I deserve, but on the other hand I don't know how I could stand it, if I couldn't see her anymore. It's ridiculous. I've only known her for like a week, and it feels as if she's my whole fucking life. God, I am so, so fucked. My stomach clenches, painfully.

Bella is blushing and looking down, and that blush will definitely be the death of me one day, because it's so damn cute and it makes her look seventeen all over again. I wish I had known someone like her in high school. Hell, I wish she had been one of my teachers in high school, that would have made the whole experience extremely erotic and totally distracting and wonderful. I will have to save that "Bella as my teacher in high school" fantasy for later though, because right now I want to focus on what she is saying and not have all the blood leave my brain.

She sounds sincere: "Edward, really, it's okay. I'm only glad to have you staying with me. You should feel free to do other stuff, not feel obligated to hang around the house or shop and cook for me." She looks up at me, and there is something almost wistful in her eyes.

"It was really great running with you this morning, though. You're obviously in so much better shape than I am, but I enjoyed it all the same. Would you do that with me again?"

I nod, not trusting my voice, because I really enjoyed that run too, maybe a bit too much. Even under those baggy sweats I could see her perky breasts bouncing and I kept having these images running through my head, of pouncing on Bella and rolling around with her in the cool sand, licking the side of her damp neck, winding her dark pony tail around my hand and pulling her head to the side for better access. When we got back to the house and she pulled her grey hoodie off and stood there in a white tank top, sweaty and panting, with her hands on her knees, I had to turn my back as I did my stretching exercises. I couldn't resist getting off in the shower afterwards, even though it was quick and I knew Bella was in the house with me. That probably makes me even more disgusting, but at the time I was desperate and didn't care. I couldn't wait until my regular bathroom break at the café.

"I..er..I've been doing track running ever since high school." I offer. "I've kind of missed it. Maybe if we switch our time schedules around we can get a run in together every day?" Bella's beaming smile tells me that this is a deal, and I will just have to find a way to desensitize myself.

The waitress hovers in an irritating way, and I get the feeling she wants our table, so I signal for the check, feeling it will be good to get outside again. I firmly brush off Bella's offer to pay her share.

"No, this is on me, Bella. I have been eating your food all week, and I will definitely want to start paying my way more from now on." The sum isn't much anyway, and as I count out the bills I notice with disbelief that there's a note with a scrawled "Call me" and a strange phone number tucked in with the slip. Looking up I see the eager eyes of the waitress fixed on me behind Bella's back, and a dimpled smile. Fuck, she might as well have winked and nudged me, she's that obvious. I feel annoyed and I really hope that Bella didn't notice this offensive behavior. I crumple the note and leave it on the table, standing and waiting for Bella to walk out ahead of me, keeping my eyes firmly to the front. I almost regret tipping her.

As we stroll slowly along the streets that are filling up with a holiday crowd we keep up the twenty questions game, and I learn more about Bella's favourite colour (green), favourite author (a tie between seven different authors depending on genre and century), music tastes (eclectic) and dream places to visit (London, the Hebrides, the Amalfi coast and Machu Pichu). This is safe ground, and we keep out questions about family, ex-lovers, health and childhood trauma.

"Actually, Kate asked me to say hello today." I feel obliged to mention the invite, even though I really don't want to share Bella with anyone tonight.

"Kate and the girls from the café are meeting up at a bar in the neighbourhood and asked if you and I would like to join them later for a drink. Are you up for it?"

Bella looks away, then looks at me hesitantly. "I don't know, bars are not really my scene, Edward, I don't drink much anymore, and I don't think I'd be much fun to have around on a Saturday night out, but if you want to go you should. I'll manage just fine." She is already inching away from me, and I step up and reach out to grasp her hand lightly in mine.

"Don't get me wrong Bella, please," I say placatingly. "I only told you because Kate wanted to see you and asked me to tell you. I don't want to go anywhere else tonight, not without you. I'm not that keen on loud bars and drinking either. Let's just take a walk and then go home, alright?"

It's funny how domestic I have become, I muse to myself, as I carefully propel Bella towards the house, my hand just barely touching the small of her back. Staying in on a Saturday night would have been a total waste of time in my books before. I used to be so impatient to be an adult, sneaking alcohol to parties, using fake ID:s to get into bars with my friends, testing my limits, getting drunk, getting high. If this had been last Christmas…but I feel that familiar sinking feeling in my gut when I think about home.

Bella is looking over at me, and suddenly she stops in the middle of the sidewalk.

"Hey, Edward, you're right. I have been avoiding the people at the café this week, sort of, that's probably why Kate mentioned me to you. Maybe it would be okay if we just stopped by to say hello? And if you want to stay, that's fine with me."

I look at her face, trying to gauge where this is coming from. Is she just saying something she thinks I want to hear? But she seems to have been friendly with Kate before I showed up, so I shouldn't presume that it's always all about me. Suddenly I feel guilty for wanting to keep Bella away from other people. She's not mine to keep. So I smile and shrug.

"Whatever you want is fine by me, Bella. We'll drop in and say hello, sure. I haven't been to this place before but it's supposed to be not too far away from the beach. Is it okay if we take at walk, or should we look for a cab?"

Without word or warning, Bella suddenly steps closer, links her arm in mine, and pulls me along with her, and I'm too delighted to say or do anything but walk with her, adjusting my step to hers, feeling her body move along with mine, the occasional bump of her hip on mine, the warmth from her skin radiating towards me, her sweet, sweet smell wafting my way once in a while. I could really get used to this, just walking with Bella, being with Bella all night, every night.

* * *

**A/N: So how do you think this date/non-date is progressing? What would you preferably do on _your_ first date night with Edward? And do you remember your first date ever? What was that like? Thank you for hanging in there...I love your comments!**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Disclaimer: I don't have a beta, so all the mistakes are mine. Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff.**

* * *

**Chapter 12**

_It's a Hollywood summer  
You'll never believe the shitty thoughts I think  
Meet our friends out for dinner  
When I said what I said, I didn't mean anything_

_We belong in a movie_  
_Try to hold it together 'til our friends are gone_  
_We should swim in a fountain_  
_Do not want to disappoint anyone_

_Now we'll leave the silver city 'cause all the silver girls_  
_Gave us black dreams_  
_Leave the silver city to all the silver girls_  
_Everything means everything_

_I was afraid I'd eat your brains_  
_I was afraid I'd eat your brains_  
_'Cause I'm evil_  
_'Cause I'm evil_

_I'm a confident liar_  
_Have my head in the oven so you know where I'll be_  
_I'll try to be more romantic_  
_I want to believe in everything you believe_

_I was less than amazing_  
_Do not know what all the troubles are for_  
_Fall asleep in your branches_  
_You're the only thing I ever want anymore_

Conversation 16, The National

* * *

**EPOV**

All too soon, we're at the Ink It Black bar. There's no bouncer, and as we walk in, the place is crowded, but the atmosphere is casual and friendly, mostly people of both sexes in their twenties to forties in jeans and shirts hanging out in groups, there's a pool table at the back and a small area with a stage where you could probably shake ass to live music, which is empty right now.

In spite of the name of the bar, there are no bikers or heavily inked gang members in sight, the only visibly inked person being the guy behind the bar, who is young, handsome but kind of dangerous looking in a black tank top and black jeans with multiple piercings. I decide I'm not going to try to order a drink from him anytime soon. He is working with a petite girl in a matching outfit with long black hair and the edges of ink peeking around the tight black t-shirt she's wearing, who looks only slightly less intimidating. The walls are covered with swirling patterns in black and silver, of dragons, roses, eagles, anything you could imagine putting on your skin, and the booths are decorated with cushions in black and silver too, giving the place a vaguely oriental feel. It's hip without being trendy, I guess.

Bella has caught sight of the group of women from the café: Kate, Carmen, Charlotte and another girl I haven't seen before, and Kate has seen us and is waving us over to their booth.

We make our way to their table, through the swell of conversation and the music at the bar, and I notice every man who lets his eyes rest a little bit too long on Bella before turning back to his glass of beer, flexing my fingers with the urge to put my arm around her and draw her close to my body. She seems tense, and I remember how she isn't comfortable in public places - she may feel exposed here with no hood and no sun-glasses to hide behind.

Kate smiles at us both, and her light blue eyes crinkle at the corners.

"Hey you guys, so you made it! Bella, Edward, you've already met Carmen and Charlotte, but this is Charlotte's friend Amy. She's a student and will be helping out for some weeks during the summer, she starts later this month."

I lean over and shake Amy's hand. She's a girl in her early twenties maybe, brown hair and blue eyes, jeans and a sparkly t-shirt, pretty in a conventional way but wearing a bit too much make-up for my taste. She seems friendly enough and gives me a firm handshake. I nod at Charlotte, looking cool and relaxed in a light yellow tank top, and at Carmen, smiling and quietly sipping her beer, wearing what looks suspiciously like a biker outfit, although I can't be sure those are leather pants as long as she's sitting down.

Kate is sliding out of the booth, standing up to make room for us two, and I look a question at Bella "are we staying?" and she hesitates, then nods imperceptibly, and slides into the booth , giving Carmen and Charlotte a smile and Amy a handshake. I sit down next to her, and Kate asks the table:

"So, drinks are on me this round, what are you having? Beer or margaritas?"

I look at Bella, taking my cue from her as Charlotte, Amy and Carmen all go for another beer.

"I'd like a Diet Coke with ice and lemon, please." Bella says and I nod to Kate "Yeah, I'll have the same, thanks." Kate makes no comment, and goes off to try to get the attention of the bartender, who is surrounded by a wall of guests right now. I lean forward and ask Amy what she is studying, and it turns out she is a sociology major at UCLA and will be going for her Masters next year. She is talkative and smiles a lot, and before I know it, Kate is back with the beer bottles, then returns with our glasses of Coke, and squeezes in beside Amy and starts telling us about the bar.

"I talked to Tony, the guy who's tending bar. Turns out he's the manager and this is his new baby. The way he talks he's obviously got great plans for this place, they're going to have bands coming in and playing sets on the weekend nights all summer, and offer open mike nights for local talent. Carmen, you should really talk to him, I bet he would let you sing."

I look over at Carmen, surprised. "You're a musician, Carmen?"

She smiles a dazzling smile, made all that much brighter by the contrast with her olive skin and black, shiny hair. "Well, a lot of people down here are aspiring musicians and actors tending bar or working diners, you know? But yeah, I have been doing sets for a long time with my husband, Eleazar: I play the guitar and he plays the bass, and we do blues songs, sometimes with a couple of other people we know, sometimes just him and me alone."

Kate butts in: "But Carmen, last summer you sang at the café, just you and your guitar, and that was really, really good too. If you and Eli don't get to play here with your blues band, you should come in for an open mike night, just you. We'll all come along and cheer for you, right?" The rest of the table murmurs assent, and I nod too, contemplating for a minute if I would have the guts to do that myself. Maybe in another lifetime. I know I play okay, but I've always been uncomfortable performing to a room of strangers, and I've never sought the attention – now less than ever.

The music is definitely getting louder, and when I look over my shoulder I see that a couple of people are dancing in the open space between the tables. When I turn back, Amy is bending over the table, asking me something. "What?"

"I said, do you want to dance with me, Edward?" She's already moving in her seat, pushing Kate out to make room for her, and I'm too surprised to say no when she takes my hand and pulls me out of my seat. There's barely time for a panicked look in Bella's direction, but she's not looking at me, she's absorbed in conversation with Carmen and I follow Amy as she leads the way to the dance floor.

The music is Kings of Leon "Sex on fire", not my favourite, but okay for moving around to, I guess. Amy is good at this, drawing me by the hand, smiling and backing away from me between the other people dancing, checking over her shoulder to see where there's the maximum of room to move, swaying her hips and arms gently in time to the music. I relax and try to give in to the rhythm, just following her lead.

We quickly find a groove, and to my surprise she's fun to dance with, she's responsive and humorous, makes faces and exaggerates her "sexy" movements wiggling her eyebrows and pouting suggestively which makes me break up with laughter. I mirror her movements, and she twirls around me, so I twirl around her. She is good-looking and knows how to move her body, and she catches the eye of some of the other guys on the dance floor. Not because of her boobs or her ass or any one thing, just because she's so comfortable, sensuous, so at one with the music, playing along with the emotions of the song, having fun. It's been a long time since I just had fun with a girl like this.

_My tux is itching and I feel sweaty all over. Actually, I'm feeling kind of out of it, and I'm not sure if it's the pot or the vodka. Probably shouldn't mix that stuff, but Jon was offering, so I took it. I look over at my date who is swaying to the music, her makeup a bit smudged under her eyes and her hair drooping down from her elaborate do. Jane is wearing a red dress that I'm sure is supposed to look "sexy" but just doesn't seem that way to me. It leaves her slim shoulders bare, and although the dress is long, there's a high slit on one side which allows her to walk normally, but also shows off her leg all the way up to mid-thigh. She's short, but her ridiculous heels make her seem taller. _

_Now she's smiling at me, stretching out her hands, and I automatically grab them and pull her into my chest. The music mellows and becomes a slow dance, and we sway slowly together, making semi-circles around the dance floor. I can smell her perfume which is sharp and too sweet and completely artificial, just the way she looks tonight. It was Jon's idea to make this a group date, he's friends with Jane's twin brother Alec, and the six of us rented a limo and made dinner reservations before going to the dance. I've met Jane and Alec before: Alec is on the track team too, and Jane is on the student council and sits in on just about every committee there is. They are both students with good grades and wealthy parents, the kind of "eligible" young people I should be hanging out with. Except I find them both cold and kind of shallow and self-absorbed. But that doesn't really matter right now._

_Right now, we are all wasted from the vodka Alec took from their parents, and the pot Jon brought with him, that we smoked in the dark under the trees beside the parking lot before going in. Normally we should have been giggling and joking about it, doing something in secret together, but instead the mood was strangely sullen, not mellow, we were smoking it quickly and determinedly, almost as if we just wanted to get it over with. And that's how I feel right now, clutching Jane to my body, in her sparkly red shell of a dress, as if I just want to get it over with._

"_Hey, Jane", I whisper into her ear, feeling her stiff, hairsprayed hair tickling my face in an unpleasant way. "I want to get out of here. How about you?"_

_She smiles up at me, a lazy smile with eyes half-closed, and somehow I feel sure that she's worked that particular look out in front of the mirror in the bathroom waiting to use it to look sexy tonight. "Hmm, sure, I'm game Edward. Let's do it."_

_We go to collect our coats, and I tell Alec and Jon that we're leaving now and that I will see Jane home and send the car back for them. They both have that glazed look, and I can tell that Jon must have been making out heavily sometime recently, because his clothes look kind of rumpled and his lips are really red. _

_In the car, Jane slumps heavily on my chest and then starts kissing me. We have dated before, and I know how she works, so I nibble her neck and suck on her ear which makes her a little crazy, and I slide my hand up along her exposed thigh, landing my fingers on something that feels like a lacy thong. Jane is breathing heavily, and suddenly she slides down on the floor of the limo and starts unbuttoning my dress trousers. I protest weakly, but she slaps my hands to the side, and in no time she has liberated my cock, which is already at half-mast. _

_Before I know it, she has taken my cock as deep into her mouth as it will go, and starts working it furiously with her mouth and her hand. Sliding in and out of her warm, wet mouth in the darkness of the backseat, while the lights from the street slither over us, I feel as if my body and mind are detached from each other. My cock obviously enjoys the attention, but my mind looks on from outside, coolly telling me that Jane is not really the kind of girl I thought would go down on me in the backseat of a rented car, and maybe she has had too much to drink and will regret this tomorrow. Nor did I really have any plans to see her again, but after having sex with her I will probably have to go out on another date just to let her down easy. Suddenly I feel a tightening of my balls, and that sudden rush that precedes orgasm, and I manage to stutter out a warning, which it seems Jane ignores, because she is still holding my cock in a death grip as I come, pulsing in her mouth._

_She doesn't seem to know whether to swallow or puke, and finally ends up letting my cum dribble out of her mouth, mostly landing on my bunched up boxers, as she makes a face and wipes her mouth on the backside of her hand. I mumble my apologies, although I did actually give her fair warning, then wriggle a tissue out of the inner pocket of my open coat on the seat and clean myself up as well as I can, before straightening my clothes and tucking myself away in my pants. _

_Jane crawls up on the seat and snuggles at my side, as we pull up in her driveway. She smiles a shy smile when I help her out of the car and deposit her on the doorstep and I feel a cold, tired kind of feeling sweep over me instead of the expected post-orgasmic bliss. Jane will be a problem for the rest of the semester now, and I will have to find a way to disentangle myself that doesn't make her or Alec into my complete enemies. So much for an evening of uncomplicated fun._

The music fades and morphs into "Rehab" with Amy Winehouse, and now _this_ Amy is playfully bumping my hip with her hip as she circles around me, and I put my hands on her waist briefly and then swing her around, before turning myself.

My eyes wander over to the booth where we left the rest of the party, and I can see some guy I don't know leaning over the table. I can't tell from here, but I kind of think Kate is frowning at him. Suddenly I feel uncomfortable at leaving Bella to fend for herself for too long, and I slide up to Amy, put my head close to her ear and tell her thanks for the dance, and I'm going back to our table. She nods and sways to the music, and I can already see a guy moving in to try and take my place at her side as I turn and walk away.

When I approach the table I can see that Kate is not happy with this guy whoever he is. He has both hands on the table, and is leaning in so that both Kate and Bella have to press up against the back of the booth not to get him in their faces.

"So, why won't you dance with me, beautiful? I promise I won't step on your toes, darlin'."

Bella is pale and determined, and speaks through her teeth, and I can tell that Carmen in the corner is getting riled up too, like a lion about to pounce.

"I don't dance, and I definitely don't feel like dancing right now. Why can't you just take no for an answer?"

"I never take no for an answer, pretty lady, that's just not how I operate," the man laughs, and I think he must be drunk. I put my hand on his shoulder, and jerk him upright, none too gently.

"Can't you see you are bothering these ladies. She said no, alright? Ask someone else, will you?" My voice is cold, and maybe a bit too loud, because I see heads turning in our direction. The obnoxious guy turns to me and I see that he is as tall as I am and older, maybe in his thirties. Old enough to know better anyway. He frowns at me.

"So, who are you to say I'm bothering anyone, who asked you?" He pushes his index finger into my chest, and I lose my balance and have to take a step back. I grit my teeth, and remind myself that this is not a good time to be getting in a fight. But before the confrontation can get any uglier, two things happen at once: Kate has finally had room to stand up and get out on the floor, and she is sliding between us, pushing me further back and putting both of her hands placatingly on the obnoxious man's chest. And the bartender suddenly materializes, and puts his arm around the man's shoulders.

"Calm down" he rumbles, and I see his muscles flexing as he locks the man in a half-embrace, smoothly leading him away from us, propelling him towards the entrance, until they disappear outside, followed by a few people who are curious to see how this ends.

Kate smooths her hair down, looking after them, and turns around to pat me on the shoulder.

"Thank you, Edward. Next time you had better tone it down a bit, you scared that guy half to death when you grabbed him."

"What happened?" I bristle. "What did he do?"

Bella shakes her head, but as I sit down next to her I can tell that her hands are shaking a little on her lap.

"It was nothing, really, it was just a guy who had had too much to drink and wanted to dance, and then got persistent when we said we weren't interested."

Carmen snorts. "I bet he thought himself really smooth, too, the fucker. If the bartender hadn't shown him the door, I would have introduced him to my Doc Martens and then shown him the exit myself" she adds darkly.

I look carefully at Bella. "Are you okay? Do you want to go home?" I add, playfully: "Or can I interest you in a dance, maybe?" The table erupts in giggles, and even Bella smiles, as Carmen leans across her to swat me on the arm. "Shut up, you smooth fucker!" she laughs. "You two had better get out of here before you get us all arrested." Bella nods, and I give her my hand to help her out of the booth, still smiling to myself.

We say our goodbyes, and I wave at Amy, who is still shaking ass on the dance floor with a dark-haired guy and looks as if she's having fun. As we navigate through the crowd to the exit, we almost bump into the bartender, who stops to look us over. He is good-looking in a brooding sort of way, dark hair and dark eyes and a couple of rings in his eyebrow, a bar bell in his earlobe and a tongue piercing glinting when he speaks in a low voice.

"Not leaving early because you feel harassed, I hope? I put that guy in a cab and told him that he wasn't allowed back in if he kept bothering the other guests."

I shake my head, putting an arm protectively around Bella's shoulder and angling my body so that I'm between her and the guy. He does look kind of overwhelming even if I'm sure he's an okay sort of person, piercings and all.

"No, it's fine. Thanks for handling that situation. This seems like a really good place. I heard you're going to have live music here this summer – that sounds like a great idea."

The bartender smiles and holds out his hand to shake. "I'm Tony, by the way. Please come back another time. I'll even buy you a drink: if you promise to dance on your own and not start any fights."

I shake his hand, which is large and sinewy but squeezes mine in a non-aggressive way. "I'm Edward, and this is Bella. A pleasure." Bella nods, her face serious. " I'm sure we'll be back sometime, dancing or no dancing." I smile and we walk out into the soft night air.

I ask Bella if she prefers to take a cab or walk, but she says she feels like walking, so that's what we do. I let my arm slide down from her shoulders as we leave the bar, but as I tentatively grasp at her fingers I feel her hand circling my wrist, and that's how we walk home together, her hand loosely gripping my wrist, burning me with the cool touch of her skin.

As we walk into the house, I let Bella walk ahead to flip the light switches, while I close the door and make sure the bolts are locked like Bella wants. When I turn around I see her standing by the door to her bedroom, her head bowed as if deep in thought and her arms hanging down almost dejectedly. On an impulse, I walk up to her, and brush the side of her face tentatively with my fingers. "Are you alright, Bella?" I ask, because I need to know.

She looks up at me, and her eyes seem almost black in the dim light of the hall. "I…I don't know" she whispers, and without another word she steps into the circle of my arms, burrowing her face in my shoulder, hugging my waist. We stand like this for what feels like an eternity. I hold her close, but not too close, my hands resting carefully against the small of her back, emptying my mind, my chest against her chest, feeling the rise and fall of her agitated breaths, the soft mounds of her breasts and with my face buried in her fragrant hair, almost afraid to breathe yet unable to resist the temptation of her smell.

After minutes that feel like hours, her breathing is slowing down and she raises her face from the protection of my body. Her cheeks are dry, but her eyes seem huge and wild as her face is right there, so close to mine that I feel as if I could step down into her fathomless gaze. It's as if I'm standing in a waking dream and slowly, oh, so slowly, I lower my face and brush my lips lightly against the tip of her nose, then lower against the corner of her mouth, waiting for her to stop me, to let go of me, to step back, but she doesn't.

She is perfectly still, as if hypnotized, as I carefully kiss her with closed lips, feeling mine tingling at the touch of soft skin on soft skin. I close my lips around her full lower lip, gently tugging, then sweep my tongue carefully across it, when she moans softly and opens her mouth, letting me in. It's so soft, tantalizing, the movement of her silky tongue against mine, her taste is sweet, tangy, incredible, everything I could have dreamed of. Without thinking, I step closer, drawing her into me, closer, pressing my body against her, and her body against the wall by the door as I plunge deeper into the kiss. And then something frightening happens.

At first, I could swear that Bella answers my passion with a passion of her own, almost attacking me, drawing me nearer, meeting my kiss with a fierce kiss of tongue and lips and teeth clashing. But almost immediately she recoils as if we had crashed and she were hit by the whiplash of our collision, pulling away from me with a whimpering scream that sounds like the nightmarish sounds I remember hearing in the night. I immediately let go of her, afraid that I have hurt her, but she doesn't stop, she stumbles back, and ends up curled into a small ball in the corner of the hall, her arms wrapped around her head, short, quick, rasping breaths, making low keening sounds, shaking her head back and forth, rocking herself as if trying to shut out the world.

I crouch on the floor by her side, afraid to touch her, not sure if I should call an ambulance or not. She isn't cramping, she doesn't seem to be in shock, so I'm guessing this is a panic attack brought on by my violation of her space. I speak quietly, trying to convey to her that I'm here, that she's not alone, that I will be here for her whatever she needs, that she is safe, in spite of me, because of me.

After a long time, her erratic breathing slows down again, the mechanical movement stops and the whining sounds die down. Slowly, her limbs seem to relax out of pure exhaustion, and she lies slumped, shuddering in a heap on the floor, her face wet with tears, her hair damp and tangled around her face and head. I wait, murmuring her name and the usual inanities "it's alright, you're alright, Bella, I'm right here, nothing is going to happen to you, it's alright, you're safe now.."

She whispers something, and I lean forward to hear the words. "I'm sorry…so sorry.."

My stomach clenches at her words, and very carefully, I disentangle a strand of dark hair from her forehead, saying: "You have nothing to be sorry for Bella. This was all my fault, and I would do anything to make it right again. Please, can I help you in any way? Do you want me to help you sit up? Do you need a glass of water?"

She shakes her head slowly, rolling over onto her stomach and hiding her face in her hands. "No, no…it's fine. I'll be fine. Just…leave me alone, Edward. Go to your room. I'll be fine.."

I hesitate for a minute, wondering if I shouldn't just pick her up off the floor and leave her on the bed in her room, but then I chastise myself for not listening to her. She knows her own mind and body, and if she needs her privacy I must give it to her. So I slowly retreat down the hall and go to my bedroom, closing the door behind me and leaning against it, my head reeling.

Too much happened tonight. A date with Bella in a public restaurant, walking around in the street holding her hand, meeting friends and strangers at a bar on a Saturday night, the obnoxious guy at the bar hitting on her, getting violent, and the scary-looking bartender, it all probably was enough to pile up on her, making her emotionally unstable. And then, when she needed some quiet comfort, reassurance and security, I tried to molest her on top of everything, in her own home. I rub my face angrily with my hands, filled with regret.

Bella seemed so fine, so…normal, for lack of a better word, that I forgot that this was all out of the ordinary for her. What will happen tomorrow, when Rosalie arrives. Will Bella ask me to leave? Will she tell her friend what happened, and then Rosalie will throw me out on my face? I am drained, sad, too tired to start to grasp the possible ramifications of this day.

I shower, and then lie on the bed in the darkness for hours. When I can't stand my own thoughts any longer, I carefully creep into the hall. Bella isn't there anymore, the house is quiet and dark and her door is closed. I stand outside her door, holding my breath. I know I shouldn't do this, but I need to know that she's alright now, so I slowly test her door, which is unlocked, then open it and listen for the sounds of her breathing. I can't hear anything, so I slink into the room, just inside the door, and stand there for a minute, letting my eyes get accustomed to the darkness.

There is a shape on the bed, and after a while I can make it out. It's Bella, curled into a ball, still in her clothes, with the bedclothes wrapped around her in a cocoon. She is snuffling quietly into the pillow, and now that can I hear her, that sound is infinitely comforting to me. I sink to the floor beside her bed and try to make out the contours of her face and head in the darkness. Later, when dawn seeps in and I begin to see the pale oval of her face I know it's time to move to my own room before she wakes up and finds me here, creepy stalker that I am.

I carefully close the door behind me, and when I get to my room, I fall on the bed and sleep like the dead.

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**A/N: Uh uh, so that didn't turn out exactly liked we hoped it would, did it? (hides behind couch) But seriously, would you dance with a stranger in a bar? Would it give you a panic attack? No? What if it was Edward? Or that Tony guy? How do you feel about tattoos? Off-putting or sexy on a man? Do you have one yourself? (I confess I don't!) Love to hear your comments!**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Disclaimer - I don't have a beta, so all the mistakes are mine. Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. Once again: thank you to everyone who favourited this story – I'm so happy that people are reading! Let's get on with it…**

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**Chapter 13**

_Lovely night  
I'll dance to tonight  
Safe as long as I'm moving  
No one touches me now  
Hands without skin, oh so soothing_

_Lovely night  
Free myself from heavy guilt on my shoulders  
Stillness in the cold  
Peace comes crawling up my bone_

_In a solitary move  
I am moving away from you_

_Lovely night no need, but one  
Let go what I hold in my hands  
Let go what I hold in my heart  
My head  
My chest  
Ocean helps man to forget_

_In a solitary move  
I am moving away from you_

Solitary move, Anna Ternheim

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**BPOV**

I wake up reluctantly, with a strong feeling that I don't want to wake up, something I don't want to remember cold in my stomach. I recognize the feeling, although I haven't had it for some time.

As I crack open my eyes and see the morning light filtering through the room, it all comes back to me. I'm in my bed, still in yesterday's clothes, feeling uncomfortable and sore, and with eyes swollen from sleep and weeping. Yesterday. I had a breakdown. Edward witnessed me having a breakdown. I am flooded with a feeling of shame, hot and queasy.

I stumble out of bed, disentangling myself from the mass of bed clothes, and head for the bathroom. Before I splash my face with cold water, I briefly consider the image before me. Hair sticking up all over the place, make up smudges around my swollen eyes, small-looking and slightly red-rimmed, pale and haggard. Not a good look for you, Bella. Deep wrinkles, pale, papery skin. Disgusting.

I peel off my clothes and turn my back on the mirror, determinedly, hitting the shower. As I stand under the warm spray for much longer than usual, I force myself to think back on yesterday, on what really happened and what was all maybe just in my mind. After I picked myself up from the floor, I walked into the kitchen, blew my nose, drank a glass of cold water, took an Advil for the headache and my anxiety meds just in case, put away the nut loaf in the fridge, and then I was too exhausted to do anything except burrow into the safe nest of my bed to sleep the whole thing off. But before that..

I went on a date with Edward, almost like an actual date, and it was…fine. No panic attacks - nervousness, yes, certainly, but nothing that made me _really_ uncomfortable. I was seen in public, eating, with a good-looking guy, and it was no big deal in the end. He calms me, even in a setting like that. Amazing.

The only drawback was the pretty young waitress ogling him, hovering all the time trying to catch his eye, but he made an exceptional job of ignoring her which was quite a feat – James would at least have acknowledged her efforts with a wolfish smile, giving credit where it was due: to himself and his own masculine charms.

And I learned some new things about Edward: that he plays the piano, that he can blush too when he's flustered, that his eyes are the most intense green in candle light that I've ever seen in a man, and that there's a muscle under his left eye that twitches when he doesn't want to answer a question. And when his mouth curls into a smile I almost have to hug myself to not leap at him across the table, I want to touch him so badly.

I wash my hair and shave my legs, procrastinating. I know I will have to face Edward eventually, but I don't want to. I blame it on the bar, that whole episode really unhinged me and I know I shouldn't have gone there. All the people, the alcohol and music, eyes everywhere. I didn't fit in. Carmen tried to engage me in conversation: she seems like a smart, strong woman, bringing up two kids together with a musician husband who can't earn much more than she does waitressing.

We talked about music, and I can tell she feels about it the way I do about words – no compromises, only the best is good enough. Her personality was almost strong enough so that I could forget about the crowd, and about Edward dancing with Amy. I caught a glimpse or two of them on the dance floor, and they looked amazing. Beautiful, sexy, really into one another, as if they had known each other for months instead of minutes. I could never dance like that, not with Edward, not with anyone. And then that asshole turned up who just couldn't take no for an answer. Leaning in, cutting me off from escape, touching me, leering.

"_Do you want to dance, Bella?" James is already standing up, giving me his hand, nodding towards the dance floor of the bar. I blush and shake my head. "No, really, I'm completely uncoordinated, I don't dance.." but my voice trails off as James grips my hand and pulls me to my feet, up against his body so that I can feel his heat and smell the expensive cologne on him._

"_Sure you do, sweetheart. Dancing is all in the leading. Just follow me, Bella." And just like that, I am helplessly tugged along, swirled around, pulled into his body, and I'm dancing. On a date with a handsome guy, in this top end bar that I would never have gone to in a million years. My head is spinning, and I keep thinking that people can tell just by looking at me that I don't belong here._

_I try to relax, try to follow James' lead like I've been told a hundred times, but it's really difficult not to let my mind trip me up, trying to second guess his moves, trying to not look like a complete klutz. I stumble repeatedly, but James is strong, and his arms around me tug me firmly into step whenever I falter. We will do this, because he wants to, and I'm too weak to stand my ground._

_Which is why I said yes when he called me up and asked me out. Weakness. I knew it was a bad idea, that he was way out of my league and that this date would be a huge disappointment to him and an embarrassing time for me, but I said yes anyway because I didn't know how to say no. And maybe there was that bit of morbid curiosity too, wondering why he would do this, what possessed him to think this would be a good idea._

_James isn't in college anymore, but he's turned up on the fringes of the Rosalie crowd. Whenever one of those guys chat me up it's normally because Rosalie put them up to it or because they want to get Rosalie's phone number from me. But James seems completely uninterested in Rose, and I've barely seen her talk to him. When I told her James had asked me out on a date she just arched her eyebrow and shrugged her shoulders. "He's older, he's pretty loaded and he's successful at what he does. I don't know much about him. He isn't a lawyer, but he went to law school. He's some kind of business man, I think. He's an alumni and he has mentored a couple of guys I know. Leroy did an internship at his firm, you could ask him."_

_But I don't call Leroy, since I don't know what to ask him. "Should I go on a date with this man?" It's the kind of thing you ask your mother, but I can't ask mine. She's too far away, and I can't talk to her about dating, guys and sex, even if I'm sure she would jump at the idea. I'm too shy, and I don't want to let on just how inexperienced I still am, at twenty-one. _

_So here I am, at a bar, dancing. When the song is over, James smiles down at me, his blue eyes sparkling, satisfied, then steers me back to our table, his hand burning through the thin material of the black cocktail dress I borrowed for the occasion. I started out nervous about whether I would fall on my face in my new heels, or blurt out something inappropriate, order the wrong thing or bore him to death, but now I am more nervous about how the evening will end than anything else. What if he wants to take me home to his place? What if he wants to have sex? Will he expect that, is that normal? What do I want? _

_But in the end, James took me home, and kissed me in the street outside my apartment building, a light but somehow searing kiss that left me a little lightheaded, and I thought that this was surely his way of signing off. But within the week he called me up and asked me out again. And I still didn't know how to say no. _

As I towel myself dry, with my back to the mirror as usual, I sigh, thinking that I should probably call Dr Banner again to schedule some more frequent appointments. Having a man in my life, even if it's only as a live-in guest, is messing with my brain, and last night was a warning call. It's brought all these memories and feelings flooding back. I try to pull a shutter down on what it felt like to stand there, within the circle of Edward's arms, and have that amazing face so close to my own. His sweet smell, his breath warm against my face, his lips. I still don't know what happened. Was he drunk? Confused? Just blindly horny and reaching out for the first warm body?

I was feeling strangely unhinged even before he tried to kiss me, and when he did my mind just blew a fuse. At first it exploded with the pent-up attraction and frustration of being near him for so long without being able to reach out to him, and then there was an emotional counter-reaction and the panic set in. I recoiled feeling horrified, ashamed, disgusted with myself, as if I was some scaly, slimy thing and he picked me up unawares. "No, no, no, don't touch me, don't touch me" was screaming through my brain. He must never, ever see me for who I am, never know how ugly I am, never come close to me.

But now, more than ever I know that I _have_ to learn how to deal with men again, on my own terms. I _have _to re-invent myself. I don't want to be forever locked between the choice of recoiling from human contact by hiding in my home and risk having complete emotional freak-outs and panic attacks while trying to deal with others. However unlikely, I don't want to be emotionally stunted and unable to connect, the day I meet someone who finally likes me.

After I've brushed my teeth, moisturized, blown-dried my hair into shape and put on some make-up to cover up the worst of my flaws, I look into my closet for appropriate clothes to have lunch with Rosalie. I settle on a brown wrap-around dress with a flared skirt that she bought for me, in a warm, earthy colour that seems to help my pale complexion and matches my eyes. I straighten my back and look in the mirror briefly, fighting off the queasy feeling. Hips too broad, stomach an ugly bulge, the dress thankfully hiding my fat arms and thighs. Ugly. But there's no way to hide it all completely, so this will have to do.

And now I will have to talk to Edward before Rose comes. If he's still in the house, that is. Suddenly, I feel anxious to know that he's still around, that he hasn't bolted because of what happened last night. Quickly, I open the door to my bedroom and walk across the hall, into the kitchen. A sigh of relief escapes my lips as I see him sitting at the counter with a mug in front of him, the smell of coffee wafting through the house. His head is turned to the door, anticipating my footsteps, and he looks a strange mixture of eager and deflated.

"Bella. I'm so sorry.." He gets up, but before he can say anything, I raise my hands in the air.

"No, Edward, you shouldn't be sorry. Nothing that happened last night was your fault, okay?"

He looks at me, knitting his brow, opening and closing his hands at his side, wanting to contradict me, I can tell.

"I just want you to know, Bella, that if you want me to leave before Rosalie gets here, I will. You can just tell me to go, it's fine, I won't argue."

I sigh, defeated, and gesture to the table by the window. "Edward, please, don't say things like that. I don't want you to leave, but we need to talk, to make sure that what happened last night won't happen again. Can we just sit down for a minute?"

He complies immediately, and takes a seat across the table from me. His hair is unruly and adorable, there's a faint stubble on his jaw that makes me want to lick it, aaand I totally need to get my own thoughts under control if we're going to do this.

Suddenly I don't know where to begin, but Edward beats me to it, folding his long hands in front of him on the table with a serious expression, clearing his voice.

"Bella, I know that you have…issues with being out in public, meeting people. I know that you don't like to be touched, that you need your own space. I need you to tell me more about what you need, so that I won't invade your space or make you feel uncomfortable. I don't want to hurt you, Bella. When I kissed you last night, that was completely inappropriate of me. I should have asked you if it was okay before trying to touch you that way. It won't ever happen again, I promise. I want you to feel safe with me. If you can't anymore, then I don't want to be around you."

In a curious mirroring gesture we both drag our hand through our hair and lean back in our chairs.

"Yes, you're right. I need to be more honest with you if this" I gesture to the air between us "is going to work. I had a panic attack last night. Do you know what that is, Edward?"

He nods his head, his eyes serious. "Yes, I know the general symptoms of one at least."

I sigh and fiddle with the belt of my dress.

"I went through a sort of midlife crisis this winter, which was triggered by an ugly divorce. I had trouble sleeping, lots of anxiety and panic attacks, some of them really bad. For some periods of time I was almost catatonic, petrified, afraid to move, afraid to breathe, couldn't leave my room. Rosalie helped me find help, counseling and some medication, and I took a time-out from work to come here and get myself back in shape again. What you saw last night, well I haven't had an attack like that for some time now. I'm doing much better, generally, but I still feel uncomfortable when I sense a lot of strange people watching me, as if they're judging me." I shrug apologetically.

"I know it's irrational, yet the very fear brings on the anxiety, so it's kind of a self-feeding circuit. I'm afraid I'll have an anxiety attack and make a fool of myself, so I think people are watching me, waiting for me to crack, and that makes me anxious, and then I _really_ think I'm going to have an attack and make my nightmares come true. It sounds crazy, I know, but do you get it?"

"We have nothing to fear but fear itself" Edward mumbles. "Yeah, I get what you're saying. But it's not just in public though, sometimes I make you uncomfortable when it's just the two of us, right?" He looks at me, and his eyes are pleading with me "please make this alright".

I smile, although my smile feels a bit shaky.

"Yes and no. I've told you I feel safe around you, and it's true. I felt okay in the restaurant last night, and I think it was a combination of the fact that we were sitting in a secluded space where I felt people couldn't stare at us, and the fact that I had a clear beeline to the door and knew I could be out of there in thirty seconds if I felt an attack coming on, and the fact that _you _were there with me."

I can see his shoulders relax infinitesimally. "And when we walked to the restaurant, and you held my hand, that actually felt good. It made me feel that you were there for me, it made me feel…protected."

"So, sometimes I can touch you? But I need to know when and how it's okay, Bella. Will you try to tell me?" His face is completely sincere and attentive, like he really needs to know. It's adorable, and I can't help smiling in response.

"There is no fixed set of rules, Edward. It's more to do with how a situation makes me feel. If anyone comes too close, someone I don't trust, that makes me anxious. If I'm surrounded by people or backed into a corner, that makes me anxious too. If someone looks at me or tries to touch me as if they own me, I feel sick. I guess it's all got to do with me having control over a situation, or not. If I know I can move, get out of there, or make myself invisible, have a space that is mine, that is inviolable, then I'm okay. But that's why I got so upset in the bar when we were crammed into that booth, surrounded by people and that guy kept pressing up against us, cornering us." I shudder.

"It's not rational, I knew he couldn't _do_ anything to us, but it made my heart race and my blood pressure drop and I felt faint and nauseous."

Edward lowers his face into his hands for a beat, then looks up at me with sad, sad eyes.

"I'm so sorry that I forced myself on you like that last night, Bella. I wasn't thinking, I was just feeling so close to you, I acted on an impulse, and then I became just another scary asshole, cornering you in your own home. I promise you, I will never touch you or step into your personal space again without asking, okay." He hesitates, then continues:

"But if you ever feel the need for human contact, a simple hug, or for me to sit next to you on the couch or hold your hand, please tell me Bella, or show me. Because I really want that too."

I lean forward across the table, and take his hand in mine, marveling at the tingle I feel at that simple touch.

"I'll try, Edward. But please, don't walk on eggshells the whole time around me. I like how you make me feel more…normal again. I don't want that to stop." I squeeze his hand briefly before letting it go to look at the time.

"Holy hell, I really need to get started, Rosalie will be here in less than an hour!" As I rise, I stop when I feel Edward tentatively touching my arm to slow me down. His eyes flicker to mine before dropping to the table, as if he's embarrassed once again.

"Just one more thing, Bella. I don't want you to think that what I did last night was just about…sex. I care about you, and I think you're amazing. I want you to know that."

I feel myself blushing, as I mumble "Okay" and move towards the fridge. Of course it wasn't about sex. Obviously Edward wouldn't want to have sex with me, especially now that he's witnessed my special brand of crazy. I decide I can think about this part later, and mentally tally up what I need to do now. Salad, relish, bread, nutloaf, roasted potatoes on the side, a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon for Rose, sparkling water for Edward and me.

Behind my back, I hear Edward get up, then he rinses out his mug and turns on the radio. "Good vibrations" sound through the kitchen, and it makes me want to giggle, its' bouncy up-tempo beat seems so inappropriate to the tension in the room and our awkward conversation. I glance briefly at Edward and see him smiling to himself, his hand hovering above the radio. Then he looks up at me and asks matter-of-factly: "So, tell me, what can I do to help you placate Rosalie?"

For the next half hour Edward cleans the vegetables, chops and mixes the salad and makes an olive oil and lemon dressing while I mix the relish, put the potato wedges in the oven with rosemary and salt and take the bread out of the freezer and the nutloaf out of the fridge for re-heating. I send Edward off to change while I lay the dining room table for three, and the doorbell rings just as he emerges from the guest room in a polo shirt and khakis.

When I open the door I'm stunned as usual by Rose and her extraordinary beauty: dressed in a red halter top, in a pair of white shorts that show off her curves and exposes her long, sleek legs and with her D&G sunglasses casually holding her blonde locks in place on the top of her head, she is the very image of sexy California. A white jeans jacket is slung casually over her shoulders and she's sporting a red Gucci handbag I haven't seen before. Suddenly I feel dowdy in my brown dress, but shrug inwardly – this is normal.

"Hello, Rose. Why don't you use your own set of keys to let yourself in, you know that's alright by me?"

Rose shrugs and smiles, then envelops me in a hug, whispering in my ear: "I wouldn't want to walk in on you and your guest having wild sex on the kitchen counter, now would I?" She then backs off and looks me up and down with a frown. "Hey, girl, did you lose a lot of weight? I remember that dress hugging your curves nicely, but now it looks kind of loose on you? Tell me your secret, baby girl! I could stand to lose a few pounds myself." She swats her own ass playfully, and from the corner of my eye I see Edward wince where he's standing outside the guestroom.

I roll my eyes. "I don't think running on the beach every morning and getting all sweaty and gross is your style, Rose. This is Edward, by the way, Edward Masen. Edward, please meet Rosalie Hale. "

Edward steps up, a gorgeous smile on his face, and I can see Rosalie's eyes going slightly out of focus, before she concentrates furiously on this handsome young man standing before her, politely shaking her hand and asking how she is.

"So, you are Edward. Heard so much about you, I'm sure" she says drily. Edward's smile grows wider.

"Only good stuff, I hope?" he asks.

"Well," Rosalie drawls, "Bella isn't the most reliable character witness in my book, so I guess I will just have to suspend judgment for now, until I can make up my own mind." She looks Edward over, a shrewd look on her face. "So you said you think my deck needs renovating, did you? Done a lot of that kind of stuff before?"

Edward looks a bit flustered as he mumbles something about not having much experience, but being able to appreciate beautiful craftsmanship when he sees it. Meanwhile, I try to hustle them both into the kitchen, where I pour us all a glass of red wine (big one for Rosalie, symbolic for me and middling for Edward) and check on the nutloaf, before walking ahead out onto the deck overlooking the ocean.

Rosalie scuffs thoughtfully on the planks with the toe of her immaculate white sandal and raises her eyes to Edward as she makes the observation: "I think you're probably right that it's high time I had someone look this over, so I'm having a contractor come by today to look at it and give me an estimate." She looks over at me. "I was going to ask you how you feel about me giving the contractors a set of keys so that they can come and go as they like. What do you say?"

I squirm. "Rose, if it's okay with you, I would rather that you didn't. Since I work from home I'm sure I'll be perfectly able to stick around for the times when they need someone to let them into the house."

Rosalie shrugs."That's fine with me. We'll talk to them today and see if we can set up the times, so you can have your say when they get to come and go. So, Edward, now, why don't you tell me a little bit about yourself..."

I can see Edward blanch as Rosalie links her arm through his and walks with him along the deck around the house, leaving me to either trail behind or retreat to the kitchen. However much I want to protect Edward from Rosalie, I know that this is one battle he will have to fight himself if he is to win her over, so I send up a mental prayer to the protector of all homeless young men to be kind to Edward, and go back to set the table with the food and wine.

When everything is ready I go to the living room to call through the open doors, and find Rosalie and Edward eye to eye and deep in conversation by the railing. The sight of their heads so close together, the blond one and the auburn one, gives me an unpleasant jolt as I remember my earlier musings about Rosalie and handsome young men, but when I call them, Rosalie just turns her beaming "cat-that-ate-the-canary" smile on me, and nudges Edward to precede her into the house, mouthing "He's hot!" to me behind his back, to my mortification.

Edward sees me blushing and looks at me curiously, but I'm not going to enlighten him this particular time. I notice that his glass of wine is practically untouched while Rosalie needs a refill. Maybe that's all to his advantage – I know that Rose loves her Cabernet Sauvignon and alcohol does tend to mellow her. A little.

We eat lunch, and I can't help noticing Rosalie noticing Edward's impeccable table manners, holding her chair out to her, filling her water glass, passing the salad, getting up to get the bread when I discover I left the bread basket on the kitchen counter, eating slowly and appreciatively, complimenting me on the food. Even Rosalie has to admit nutloaf isn't a completely disgusting dish as far as vegetarian dishes go, which is probably as far as she'll go, meat lover that she is.

When we're still in the middle of the meal, the doorbell rings again, and I shoot a questioning look at Rosalie. She frowns.

"That must be the contractors, but they're like an hour early." She throws her napkin on the table, but Edward is already on his feet, saying: "I'll get the door and tell them to come back later."

But it's only a minute before we hear an unfamiliar male voice booming through the house, and before we know it an annoyed Edward comes walking in with a big bear of a man in his thirties, dark-haired and tall with a boyish face, and the most endearing smile I've ever seen on a grown man. He waves a hand as big as a dinner plate at us.

"Hello everybody, so sorry to be interrupting your meal, but as I said to Eddie here, this will probably only take a minute and I'll be out of your hair. We're extremely busy right now, and I sure don't want to take up anymore of your time than is needful. Now, which one of you lovely ladies would be Ms Rosalie Hale?" He already looks expectantly at Rose, who stands up, an angry expression on her lovely face, and his eyes unabashedly travel over the length of her bare legs. I can see that Edward notices, and his face clouds over, "Fucker!" written across it as clearly as if he said it out loud.

But Rosalie has noticed it too, and a deceptively sweet smirk creeps across her face. Oh-oh.

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**A/N: So, things are moving along again, crisis averted! Do you think Edward will get up the nerve to ask Bella out again? Do you share Bella's aversion to dancing, or is dancing your idea of a perfect night out? Please tell me, if you have the time to review!**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Disclaimer - I don't have a beta, so all the mistakes are mine. Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. Thank you for reading! I promise to answer all reviews as long as you log in first so I can find you…**

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**This is where we left off last chapter:**

"_He already looks expectantly at Rose, who stands up, an angry expression on her lovely face, and his eyes unabashedly travel over the length of her bare legs. I can see that Edward notices, and his face clouds over, "Fucker!" written across it as clearly as if he said it out loud._

_But Rosalie has noticed it too, and a deceptively sweet smirk creeps across her face. Oh-oh."_

**Chapter 14 Mirror**

_Who's that girl? That you dream of  
Who's that girl? That you think you love  
Who's that girl? Well I'm nothing like her  
I know there's no such girl  
I swear I can't take the pressure  
Who's that girl?_

_Good girls don't say no or ask you why_  
_I won't let you love me, until_  
_you really try (oh no)_  
_Good girls are sexy like every day_  
_I'm only sexy when I say it's ok_

_I just can't deal with the rules_  
_I can't take the pressure_

Robyn: Who's that girl?

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"So, you must be from McCarthy and sons?" she asks in a mellow tone. "I'm Rosalie Hale."

"Yes," the giant rumbles, his eyes almost popping out of his head as if he can't make up his mind about which part of Rose to ogle first, "we spoke on the phone, Ms Hale. I'm Emmet McCarthy, the owner of the firm. So pleased to meet you." He holds out his big hand, and steps forward to completely envelop Rosalie's well-manicured hand in his own.

"Well, I'm impressed", Rose simpers. "I didn't expect the man himself to come over to look at my property, and on a Sunday, no less, especially seeing that you are so _busy._" Her eyebrows arch a question in his direction, but Emmet McCarthy seems completely unfazed by her slightly sarcastic tone.

"It's the time of year, everyone wants to have their beach property in tip top shape for the summer, not to mention the re-decoration craze that is going on right now. Everyone wants a new bathroom every other year, or that's how it seems to me. Not that I'm complaining," he chuckles, "lots of work coming our way now. But don't worry, I'm sure we'll be able to _fit you in_ Ms Hale."

I almost choke at the suggestive way he emphasized the last part of his sentence, and I see Edward closing his hands into fists and taking a step forward, but not before Rose takes a step closer to Mr McCarthy and playfully slaps his chest, before bringing the heel of her sandal down hard on his left foot. He doubles over with a howl, then starts hopping around on one foot in the most ridiculous manner, while Rose strolls over to the table, picks up her glass and takes another mouthful of wine, thoughtfully rolling it around on her tongue.

Just as Mr McCarthy puts his injured foot down on the floor again and makes a hobbling move in Rose's direction, which makes both me and Edward take a protective step forward, Rose steps up to him, and suddenly explodes in a coughing fit, spraying his white short-sleeved shirt with red wine, leaning on his arm, and stuttering between coughs, "Oh, I'm…cough cough..so sorry Mr McCarthy..cough, cough..I hope..cough..hope I didn't..cough..step on..cough, cough…any toes?"

Emmet McCarthy's eyes are almost popping out of his head again, but for a very different reason, as his gaze, teary from the recent pain, moves with disbelief from Rosalie's mischievous face to his own polka-dotted shirt. And then something completely unexpected happens. He starts howling with laughter, slapping his thighs, wiping his eyes, a rumbling belly laughter that is so infectious we are all suddenly smiling, and Rosalie even starts giggling, still clutching his arm.

"Oh, oh, oh my, you really are something Ms Hale!" he exclaims, when his fit of laughter finally dies down. His face more serious now, he looks at her, apologetically, and pats her hand, which seems reluctant to let go of his arm.

"I'm sorry if we got off on the _wrong foot_" he smiles again, and incredibly, Rosalie snorts with laughter and beams right back at him. "I'll just go now, and come back in an hour, when you've finished your lunch, and we can talk about what you need done around the house. It's a beautiful house by the way, and so are you, if you don't mind me saying so." He makes a sort of salute and backs toward the exit, looking around the room at Edward and myself, who I think are both trying very hard not to gape like fishes out of water. "A pleasuremeeting you all. I'll see you later."

But now it's Rosalie's turn to pipe up.

"Actually, I've got a better idea. Why don't you have lunch with us, and I can tell you about what I want you to do here. That is, if you're not _too busy_ for lunch and don't mind eating vegetarian meatloaf, Mr McCarthy?" she smirks.

I can see a lot of different emotions playing quickly over Mr McCarthy's face, which is as open as a child's: hunger, doubt, humour and enthusiasm, until he suddenly makes up his mind.

"Thank you ms Hale, if you're sure it won't be any trouble for you that sounds absolutely delicious. But please, everybody, call me Emmett: Mr McCarthy sounds like my old dad, may he rest in peace, and I don't feel quite that old yet." He smiles that infectious smile again, and even though I can tell by the disbelieving look on his face that Edward is slightly exasperated over the shenanigans taking over our quiet Sunday lunch, I personally feel secretly pleased to have this boisterous person deflecting Rosalie's attention.

Without comment, Edward sets another place at the table, we make introductions and I show Emmett where he can wash his hands, before we all settle down to our interrupted meal. Emmett tucks into my nutloaf with surprising enthusiasm, judging it to be "almost as good as his Mom's meatloaf" which I gather is meant as high praise indeed, especially after I hear him and Rose getting into the pros and cons of different types of outdoor grills, making it obvious that this is another hard-core meat-eater who loves him a barbecue on a Sunday afternoon.

When we're finished and Emmett politely declines coffee, I clear the table with the help of Edward, while Rose and Emmett go outside to look at the deck. Edward wiggles his eyebrows and nods in the direction of the deck, whispering to me "Was that as weird for you as it was for me?"

I smile and shrug. "I've seen Rose flirting before. Just wait, before you know it they will be getting tattoos together." Edward laughs, a genuine, happy laughter that fills me with joy, and I have to smile myself at the mental image of Rose and Emmett laid up in the tattoo parlour, getting matching tattoos of "His" and "Hers" on their shapely behinds.

When Rose and Emmett come back they are arguing about what type of stone would look good and I gather that apart from sprucing up the wooden deck, stairs and railings, we will be building an outdoor grill, provided that Rosalie gives the all clear on his plans for building it.

I tell Emmett that I will make sure to be home between 9 AM and 1 PM every day next week, and he assures me he will get in touch with me if they need to come by and access the house at any other time. We shake hands, and then Rosalie tells me she will be going with Emmett to look at materials and makes, and that she and I will definitely get together next weekend. She shakes Edward's hand, holding on to it for an uncomfortably long time, and I see that he's almost squirming under her steady blue gaze. Then she smiles her beautiful, slow smile, with just the hint of the predator in it, and pats the front of his shirt saying. "You take good care of Bella now, you hear. I wouldn't want to hear about you falling out of line: this is such a pretty shirt, and I would be sorry to see anything happen to it."

Edward smiles a strained smile, but there is a hint of genuine amusement in his eyes all the same, as if he and Rose know exactly where they stand now.

"I hear you loud and clear, Rosalie. It was nice to meet you. I hope I see you next weekend, and I'll make sure not to step on anyone's toes until then."

Rosalie laughs her low, throaty laugh, gives Edward a final pat on the arm, and winks at me before walking out the door to where Emmett is eagerly waiting for her in the street, his SUV a monster beside her sleek sports car. "Man, that is one cool car" he shouts at us, and turning to Rose, "what kind of speeds do you get with this baby?"

I wave, shrug my shoulders, and walk into the house, closing the door behind me, suddenly feeling exhausted.

Edward is starting the dishwasher when I come back into the kitchen, and we wash and dry the wineglasses together, chatting about cars (Edward loves my Volvo, admires the BMW but dreams of one day driving an Aston Martin. I hate SUV:s and have a thing for the Audi.) and wine. (I've always preferred white wine, Edward doesn't see the point of rosé and we both agree the Cabernet Sauvignon we had for lunch was a bit too fruity and over-generous.) Then he offers to go for a run with me before sunset, to which I agree, and I retreat to my bedroom for a nap.

_I see him hovering above me in the soft yellow light of the bedside lamp, and I squirm uncomfortably at his hungry gaze. I haven't felt this naked and exposed with a man before, ever, and I know I can't possibly be the most attractive girl he's taken to bed. I hate to think that he is comparing me now to those invisible others. He's taken a surprisingly long time getting us here, with no real help from me, and I can't stop wondering why that is. Is it because he knows how inept I am at romantic relationships – has he been trying to ease my mind before taking me to his bed? Or is he just not that interested in consummating our relationship? _

_I bite my lip and look towards the ceiling, then feel his hand gently but firmly tugging on my chin, bringing my eyes back to his gaze. _

"_Bella, I need you to look at me. Talk to me baby, tell me what you want. Let me know if what I'm doing feels good."_

_I feel as if I'm blushing all over. I can't possibly give him instructions since he is more experienced than I am, but I don't want to seem like a complete moron either. So I tell him what little I know._

"_I, I like it when you kiss my throat, and my breasts" I stutter, trying to speak calmly and seductively at the same time. _

"_Like this?" James lips hover and nip at the column of my neck and my shoulders, and I give a small involuntary moan as I shiver when his lips raise goosebumps on my arms, trailing down, his hot wet mouth enveloping first one nipple, then the next, sucking gently, then harder, making me gasp._

"_Yess.." I hiss. And I want to give him something more, so I add: "and I like it when you touch me there, with your fingers."_

"_Where? You mean your pussy, Bella. Let me hear you say it now." He sounds almost wicked, and it is strange, and feels a bit demeaning, but it's kind of hot too, so I comply. "I…I like it when you touch my…my pussy with your fingers." I draw a shuddering breath when he does it, coating my lips with the wetness from my opening, circling my clit, making me shiver with a sort of delicious anticipation._

"_Oh, baby, you're already so wet for me" he breathes. And he kisses me all over my torso with open-mouthed, wet kisses and half-bites that make me whimper and clutch onto him, and now he is flicking my clit with his thumb at a faster pace which feels kind of uncomfortable, while he plunges first one and then two fingers into my hot center. I wince, but try to relax since I really want this to happen now. I'm ready. _

"_You're so tight, baby" he growls. "Does this feel good?" His fingers plunging in and out of me are a foreign feeling, which hurts but feels kind of good at the same time. I've never used a dildo, never felt the draw, but I have examined myself with my fingers, without ever feeling any big excitement about it, more a clinical interest "oh, so this is what I feel like on the inside". When I orgasm it's normally just from rubbing against the seat of my chair or a pillow on my bed, with my panties still on. I never liked using my fingers on my clitoris, that just made the orgasm feel like a sort of twitching cramp. But with someone else doing it, it feels…better. Different. _

_Just the fact that I'm in bed with a man is sort of frightening and exhilarating and hot at the same time. I'm feeling so exposed, and it's exciting while at the same time I can't relax completely, and when I can't relax, I can't concentrate, and when I can't concentrate I can't come. My mind is spinning._

"_I need you now, baby. Are you ready for me, Bella?" James eyes are luminous, his face filled with lust and what I think is the need for possession. I swallow and nod. Now or never._

_He rolls over to the bedside table and takes out a condom, rips it open, and swiftly rolls it over what I think is an impressive length. I swallow again. "I expand too" I tell myself in my mind, because I know this is true. Hell, where the head of a newborn baby can exit, a penis must be able to get in, I remind myself. Only, of course it normally happens in the reverse order._

_James holds himself up on his arms, positioning himself at my opening, and I spread my legs wider to give him a better angle. I feel him nudging me, pressing in, and then, with a muffled curse, he plunges all the way in, and I feel something rip inside me with a sort of hot, sharp pain, and I can't help wincing, and giving a muffled cry myself. James is gritting his teeth, holding himself still above me, but makes no comment. _

_Slowly, he begins to move inside me, and it hurts, but not unbearably so, it's just a foreign kind of pain, a burning sensation inside me, down there, and I concentrate on relaxing, on opening up, on receiving him, clutching his back, running my hands in fluttering movements up and down his shoulder blades, down to his ass, stroking his ass cheeks, where I feel his muscles moving as he starts pumping into me with more force now, as he's mumbling things, and then he rolls us around so that I'm on top of him, and he holds my hips in his hands in a firm grip, guiding my movements, bouncing me up and down on him, changing his grip so that he can squeeze my breasts in his hands, rolling my nipples which makes me squirm because it is mainly painful but maybe feels a little bit good too._

"_You're so fucking beautiful, Bella" he pants. "You feel so fucking good, so tight, bouncing on my cock like this". A part of me feels embarrassed, because I'm not used to dirty talk even if I know that theoretically it can be exciting, and another part of me feels that yes, dirty talk _is_ kind of exciting, as a wave of heat scorches through me. My clit is rubbing against his pelvic bone as he increases the force of his thrusts and in spite of the soreness, it feels kind of good. Promising. Like I can definitely imagine coming from this some time in the future._

_And then he is growling and turning us over again so that I'm beneath him, and he lifts my legs against his body for better access and I feel him going deeper now, hitting a spot that is kind of painful in a different way, maybe my cervix, and I gasp in protest. But now he's really excited, I can tell, and he grinds out between his teeth "So good, so good. I'm gonna fuck you so fucking hard, Bella, you'll be feeling it all week. Are you close, baby? I'm so fucking close!" as he is pounding into me even faster, drawing out and pushing all the way in in a punishing rhythm. And he's hurting me now, bruising me on the inside, and I really just want it to be over with, so I stutter out. "Yes, I'm close, I'm really close. Fuck me hard James, please!" _

_That seems to push him over the edge, because he hisses "Yess, baby, I love it when you beg. Oh, Bella, Bella, Bella…" and his movements become erratic, and he kind of sobs and pushes into me a last couple of times before he collapses on my chest, rolling over to his side swiftly so that he's not crushing me, heaving a couple of deep breaths. We stay like that for a minute, his arm slung heavy across my chest, before he pulls out of me completely with experienced precision, taking care of the condom and tossing it in the trashcan by the bedside table. I idly wonder if that's why it's standing there, as I move into a more comfortable position and wince at the pulsing, dull pain between my legs. I wonder if it's possible to bruise on the inside and what those bruises would look like. I wonder if it will be less painful next time. It should be, by all accounts._

_James looks at me and smiles a lazy smile, tracing my cheek with his fingers that smell of my sex, a musky, salty, not unpleasant smell. I like how I smell. "So, Bella, was that your first time?"_

_I blush and bite my lip. "Yes. Do you mind?"_

_James shakes his head slowly, still smiling. "Mind? Why would I mind? I think it's fucking hot that I get to be with you for your first time. But you're so beautiful I find it really hard to believe no one got there before me. Are all college guys deaf, dumb _and _blind these days?" He chuckles and pulls me closer._

"_So, was it okay for you? Did I finish too soon? I really have a hard time controlling myself around you, when you're so fucking sexy, you know? I'm sorry if I hurt you. Are you okay?" He draws back and looks at me, a certain concern in his eyes now that I'm not talking too much._

_I shake my head, smiling a tentative smile. "It hurts, but it was good too, you know. I really enjoyed it."_

_James chuckles again, appeased, and pulls me into his body, burying his face in my hair. "I told you you would be feeling me all week, baby." I make a face into his chest. Yeah, I probably will, but not necessarily in a good way. After another minute he sits up, and looks down at me, playing with my hair._

"_Oh, Bella, Bella, Bella" he says thoughtfully. "Whatever am I going to do with you?" He smiles at me, and it's a smile filled with a kind of dark humour. "I might have to marry you. Would you like that, Bella? Would you like me to marry you? "_

_My breath catches in my throat. Marry him?! He must be crazy, we've only known each other for a couple of months. He's not serious, is he?_

_James laughs at my bewildered expression. "Relax, baby, you don't have to give me an answer now. Let's take a shower, and then we need to talk about protection. Are you on the pill, Bella?"_

I turn over in bed and open my eyes to afternoon light filling my bedroom with a warm glow. My eyes are filled with tears, remembering. I should have seen it coming from the very beginning. I should have known that this was not a healthy relationship. I should have known that James was not the right kind of man for me. Or I should have learnt to say no from the start, to speak my mind, to tell the truth. Then I wouldn't have kept fooling him and myself about who we were, about how we were together for so long. Too long.

There's a knock at the door, and I roll over and sit up, answering "Yes? Come in."

Edward pokes his head inside the door, smiling at my rumpled self. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

I shake my head no. He opens the door and steps just inside it, folding his arms across his chest. He's wearing nothing more than a wife beater and a pair of shorts and looks pretty hot. I swallow and look down on the floor.

"So I was thinking, it might be time for that run? If you still want to, that is?" his voice is hesitant, like he doesn't want to push me.

I look up at him, yawning and stretching my arms above my head as I stand up. "Yeah, sure, just give me a minute to wake up and change, okay?" I gesture to my t-shirt and sleep shorts that I changed into to get comfortable after the dress and kitten heels I put on for Rosalie.

Edward swallows and looks out the window, then turns and says over his shoulder "Sure, no problem, take your time. I'll be waiting for you down on the beach," as he exits the room, closing the door behind him again.

I quickly pee, splash some cold water on my face to wake myself up, drink a big glass of water to prevent dehydration, and change into my running sweats and shoes. I lock the door, turn on the alarm and make quick work of the stairs.

Edward is doing stretching and warm-up exercises on the beach, and drawing the attention of every female walking by. I roll my eyes inwardly. Yeah, yeah, it gets kind of old after a while you know, all that lanky gorgeousness and wild sex hair, those broad shoulders, and those narrow hips and firm-looking thighs and…oh, stop it, Bella who are you fooling, you're drooling too.

I sigh and firmly turn my back on him as I bend and stretch and run in place, jumping up and down. Hm, temperatures are definitely getting warmer and warmer, and soon I will have to get some lighter running gear if I'm not going to suffocate. I still can't imagine myself running in just a tank top and a pair of shorts like Edward, though. I will have to go to a sports store and look at my options. I wonder how Muslim women do it, when they have to cover themselves up all the time? Maybe they have special stores they go to? I should probably look into that, since I don't feel comfortable showing too much skin either.

"Ready?" Edward looks at me and yanks his head towards the beach, and I nod.

I walk carefully, trying not to get too much sand into my shoes, until we hit the firmer patch of sand near the ocean and start running. It's really beautiful, the sun beginning to sink, and the sea gulls circling the rolling waves. Edward is beautiful too, and I let myself become hypnotized by his body next to mine, letting his rhythm become mine as I lift my arms and legs, noticing without thinking the clenching of the muscles on his pumping thighs, his loose fists swinging, and his breaths wooshing in and out.

The muscles in my legs are burning, and my stomach clenches with every breath, but it feels good, the pain is good. It's as if I'm running up a hill with a purpose, sure of my goal, sure that it's worth it. Even if my arms and legs fall off it will still be worth it because I will have achieved something.

Halfway, Edward turns and asks me if I want to stop for a minute to catch my breath. I can't speak, but I shake my head no. I don't want to stop, not ever. I want to run and run, until I run into the sun, until I burn up, until I become nothing. I want to die running, because then I won't know the exact moment when I die, it will just happen. I feel delirious, semi-high, like when I was on N2O in the hospital, feeling the pain but no longer a part of the pain. Giddy and fierce and weak at the same time. Edward looks at me curiously, but it's not until we reach the stairs, and I collapse, wheezing, sitting down, that he becomes worried.

He crouches before me. "Bella, are you sure you're alright? You seem …out of it?" He puts his hand tentatively on my shoulder.

Now that we've stopped, the strange feeling of a high is fading, and I feel like I'm a lobster boiling in a pot, my throat scorching. I peel off my sweater, not caring who sees me and sit with my arms on my knees, croaking out: "Water, please."

Edward gives me his water bottle without hesitation. Smart boy, why didn't I bring one too? I unscrew the cork and drink from it greedily, feeling some of the water escaping and sliding down my throat, making the front of my t-shirt even more damp than it already is, pausing so that I can drink and breathe at the same time.

Once I've emptied the bottle, I drag the back of my hand across my sweaty brow and stare up at Edward, apologetic.

"Sorry I drank all of your water. I will definitely bring a bottle the next time, and I seriously have to get some new sweats."

Edward looks me over and smiles. "Those sweats seem kind of warm, and baggy, but I guess they make more sense when we run in the morning, because then it's kind of chilly still, with the morning fog. You should probably get something lighter too, though, for the summer. Unless you've got some old shorts and t-shirts around the house you could wear? I'm not picky. You don't have to dress up in designer clothes to be seen running with me, you know?" His smile is infectious, and I find myself grinning up at him, ignoring the fact that I must look pretty damn disgusting right now. Edward looks fine, though, even sweaty and tired. He kind of… glows. His smile drops, and he takes a step back and shifts his gaze away from me. I probably ogled him again or something. I sigh.

"Let's go and take a shower" I say, as I brace myself on the steps to get up, feeling my muscles begin to stiffen. "We should do some stretching , but let's do it up on the deck away from all this sand." I run up the steps as fast as I dare, forcing myself to make that last bit of effort. Up on the deck we do our stretching exercises apart but mirroring one another, and Edward teaches me a couple I haven't tried before, to stretch the muscles at my hips and thighs. My all too fleshy hips and thighs. I sigh inwardly. I wish I was agile, slender and bendy like Amy. I wish I was younger and more beautiful. I wish for peace on earth and for Joyce Carol Oates to win the Nobel prize. No, not really.

I let us into the house, and after a shower and a lot more cold water to drink, I feel better. I find Edward in the kitchen rummaging for leftovers, and I boil an egg, and make a cup of tea to keep him company while he's eating his dinner, each of us reading a book and making casual conversation, between turning pages. This feels so comfortable, I can almost forget all the drama of the last couple of days. I look up at Edward and see the light of the lamp making his hair glint gold and red and bronze.

"Hey." I say, and he looks up at me, a smile in his eyes, while he's still chewing. "This has been a good day, Edward. I just wanted you to know that you made this a good day, just being here. Thank you."

His eyes turn serious now, and he breaks eye contact, swallowing before he speaks into his plate.

"Thank you, Bella. You made this a good day for me too. A really good day." After a minute he picks up his empty plate and moves to the kitchen where he starts unloading the dish washer, and I return to my book, feeling unexpected tears prickle my eyes. A really good day.

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**A/N: So, what do you think of Rose and Emmett's meeting: love or hate at first sight? And can you relate to Bella's first time with James? Was he an asshole, or was she just wrong not to speak up for herself more? Please leave a review if you have time and let me know what you think! **


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Disclaimer - I don't have a beta, so all the mistakes are mine. Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. Thank you for reading! I promise to answer all reviews as long as you log in first so I can find you…**

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**Chapter 15 Mirror**

_Let's give it up for the rain  
Heavy fall and a halo  
Hours of holding the time  
Like a stone in the palm of your hand  
Lovely days by your side  
Not even once, I never saw signs of trouble_

_Bow your head, bow your head…_

_Let's give it up for the fool  
Words falling carelessly  
Each joke holds a belief  
For sad people like you and me_

_Bow your head, bow your head…  
All for the loveliness_

_Let's take a walk on the beach  
Feel the sand beneath our feet  
Fall asleep in the shade  
After a swim in the ocean  
Get dry on sandy rocks  
Not even once, I never saw signs of trouble_

_Bow your head, bow your head…  
For all the loveliness_

Anna Ternheim: Bow your head

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**EPOV**

Getting up early Monday morning doesn't feel so great, but I remind myself once again that I am lucky to have a job, and Kate has said that I will get to switch my schedule once in a while so I won't have to get up before five every day. I stretch and groan, then stumble into the shower to wake up. Since I promised Bella I would run with her we haven't talked about how we're going to work that on a day-to-day basis, but I hope she'll sleep in and run with me later, after work.

The house is quiet, and I stop outside of Bella's door, listening for any noises. I resist the urge to slip inside and watch her sleeping form once more before heading out for the day. Listening to her breathing is almost addictive to me now, just being able to watch her and know that _right now she's okay._ I still don't like the idea of her running alone early in the morning, and today I decide I will definitely try to talk her out of it, permanently. I remember my talk with Rosalie yesterday.

When she leaned into me, I felt fear rippling along my spine like a piece of ice sliding down my skin, and I tried to keep my head and not take offence while she asked me personal questions about myself. After a rapid-fire approach she suddenly switched tack.

"_Edward, please tell me why it's a good idea for Bella to keep you around. " Her voice sounds conversational, yet with a steely edge, and her smile seems brittle. I gulp._

"_No idea really, why Bella would have any use for me," I blurt out honestly. "She seems to be way ahead of me in so many ways. I'm just a college drop-out, a fuck-up really, and she is a great lady. But as long as she lets me stay I promise to do everything in my power to help her out. Anything I can do, just let me know." I take a deep breath, forcing myself to hold Rosalie's gaze. _

_She sips her drink and looks at me speculatively._

"_I've no reason to tell you this, other than that I want you to know what you're getting yourself in for. Me and Bella go way back, and she's one of my best friends. She's not so great right now, and this was supposed to be her safe haven, a place for her to get away and have some peace of mind until fall comes. If you can make her feel better, then fine, by all means stay here. But if you're just another self-serving bastard, out to get what you can, then you'd better pack up and leave right now, because if Bella doesn't kill you, I will." She sounds dead calm, but absolutely serious, and I'm not sure if what she's saying is just a figure of speech, or God's honest truth. It chills me._

_Her shoulders relax a fraction, and she looks away from me, out to the horizon, where there are some feathery white clouds gathering. The breeze lifts some strands of her blonde hair from her lightly tanned skin, and in the harsher outdoor light I can see faint traces of lines on her perfect face._

"_James, Bella's husband, was a creep. I don't know what she's told you, but he was. She doesn't need another one in her life." She frowns. "And I won't just stand around this time and watch her get hurt." I imagine I see a shadow of an emotion I can't read across her face, and I wonder if she feels guilty for not being there more for her friend. I'm in no position to judge her, but the way she comes across, she seems pretty self-absorbed. If this is Bella's best friend, maybe there's a reason she seems so set on battling through everything on her own? _

"_I don't know who you are or where you're coming from, but I've seen Bella spend a lot of time on her students, people your age, patiently trying to coach them to success. That's just the way she is: professional, caring, dedicated. Maybe she's making a mistake right now, falling into an old pattern of taking care of people who don't deserve her time, I don't know. Just make sure you deserve everything she does for you, Edward." She looks at me, and I feel her blue gaze piercing me. For a moment I almost think she can read my mind, the panic, the failure, all my bad decisions, drunk times and hook-ups, criminal behavior and selfish ways. She must be deadly cross-examining witnesses. I swallow._

"_What can I say?" I answer her, raising my shoulders in a helpless gesture. " I know I don't deserve any of this, I've already told you that. There's no reason for you or Bella to trust me. Just let me try to prove myself and judge me then. And if you're not comfortable having me stay here, I will go."_

_She looks at me closely, then smiles slowly. "Just be good to Bella. If you fuck with her, I'll be the one who kicks you out. I don't care about the rest of it." Then Bella calls us in, before I can think of anything else to say. _

I walk to the café, and since Kate has entrusted me with keys, I clean up and get the place ready on my own before Jim arrives to start breakfast, and Charlotte opens the till as the first morning customers start dropping in before 7 AM, some to sit down for breakfast, others just picking up a coffee to go and something to eat.

When there's a lull Charlotte leans on the counter and watches me, smiling, as I'm stacking coffee mugs by the coffee machine.

"So, did you have fun Saturday night?" she asks, innocently enough.

I shrug. "It was okay. I mean, it was nice seeing you guys, but it would have been better without that asshole who made Bella uncomfortable. She doesn't go out that often, so I was hoping it would have been a good experience for her. Now, I don't know if we'll want to go back there again."

Charlotte starts rearranging the pastry display on the counter, glancing my way.

"You should definitely come out with us again, though, Edward. Amy told us she was impressed with your dancing skills, and I'm sure we would all like to test them out at some point."

I shake my head, smiling. "Amy is just bullshitting you, Charlotte, she is a way better dancer than I am, it's her you should be dancing with, not me. Why don't you ask Jim? I'm sure he'd be game" I nod my head toward the kitchen.

Charlotte makes a face. "Don't think we haven't tried, but Jim gets enough of us girls in the daytime, he likes to hang with his guy friends when he's not working. So, Amy wanted to know if you're, you know, seeing anyone?" Her voice is casual, but her eyes betray her interest. I don't know if I want to sigh and roll my eyes or feel flattered.

"Amy wants to know?" I ask, raising my eyebrow and looking intently at Charlotte, who has the good grace to blush under my scrutiny.

"Well, she asked. Since she will be working here this summer, and she might be working with you. And since you're such a good dancer. I guess she just wants to know if she should go for it, or if you already have a girlfriend." Charlotte is fiddling with the napkins now, refilling a couple of containers that don't really need a refill yet.

I sigh. "Look, please tell Amy that I think she's a great girl and a really good dancer, and I would love to go out with you guys again some time, but I'm not really on the market right now. And even if I were, I don't think it would be a good idea to date a co-worker. It might get awkward if it doesn't work out, you know? We wouldn't want to scare any customers off with the staff throwing plates at each other or having shouting matches in the kitchen, right?"

"No, you're probably right," Charlotte says, distracted momentarily by a customer coming up asking for a refill.

As I'm on my way out to collect some dirty dishes and wipe down the tables I hear Charlotte again. "Not on the market, huh? Bad breakup or something?" I smile a lopsided smile over my shoulder as I quip back "Yeah, you could say that." She looks kind of wistful, but smiles back at me. "Just let us know when you're ready, Edward, we'll fix you up with someone good.." and she gives a little wave before she turns to another group of people stepping inside to look at the breakfast menu.

I escape to the kitchen for a while after that, on the pretext of doing dishes, seeking shelter in Jim's taciturn, masculine company. He's a dark-haired, muscular guy, with the beginning of a paunch and the habit of taking a smoking break out back regularly on the hour. He's meticulous about what he does, knows how he wants things in the kitchen, but doesn't seem to care too much about his personal appearance. He's on the quiet side, but not unfriendly.

"So, you went out with Kate and the girls this weekend?" he asks, giving me the benefit of a ghostly smile, his eyes on the pancakes he's flipping, then moving over to the counter where he slides two omelettes onto their respective plates.

"Yeah, they asked me to come, and I thought it would be the friendly thing to do. Charlotte told me they've asked you, but that you never come along. How come?" I look at him, curious. He seems unfazed, and gestures to me to get the strawberries out of the fridge for the pancakes. We have developed a kind of sign language when we're in the kitchen together and when Jim gestures for me to get something, I almost always get it right. I'm good at anticipating people's needs.

"Hell, there's no reason. Just, I see them all the time, you know? My house is full of girls and I need some time to see my friends too. Plus, my favourite bar would probably seem like a slum to them." He grins. "Not a lot of women go there, and it's mostly about pool, hard drinking and watching sports together. Definitely no dancing. You'd be welcome to come too, some time: do you play pool?"

I nod. "Sure. Not very good at it, though, but I've played some." I watch him load a plate with pancakes and some fresh strawberries, then follow his instruction – a jerk of the head – and take the plates out to the customers waiting.

Maybe I will take Jim up on his offer some time, just to see what his friends are like. I've never been as comfortable with guys as with women, though, always feeling as if I'm part of some kind of third sex, watching and adapting to regular "male" behavior, but sometimes with a feeling of detachment, as if I'm an anthropologist studying a new tribe. Maybe that has always been part of my problem ever since I was a kid: this longing to fit in, and the lurking suspicion that I never will, because I am too different, not "normal" like the others. Well, I'm definitely not normal. And I probably shouldn't be trying to make new friends anymore.

All through the morning, images keep coming back, flashing inside my head, unwelcome and welcome at the same time. Images of Bella, sitting across from me in the soft lamplight at the restaurant, then pale and distraught in my arms, her cool skin setting a fire in my blood wherever I touched her, the dizzying feeling of actually kissing her, and the shock at her recoil.

Bella looking at her friend Rosalie, a sort of yearning and sadness in her eyes and her slumped shoulders, which made me angry because Rosalie didn't see it or respond to it, completely wrapped up in herself. And Bella after her run, so beautiful, rosy skin and glowing eyes, her dark hair damp with sweat and some strands plastered across her wide forehead, her t-shirt damp and clinging to her breasts, which made stretching exercises an excruciating ordeal, trying to alternately hide and will down my physical reaction to her.

I take my traditional bathroom break when the lull comes mid-morning, ignoring the fact that it's probably pretty humiliating to be jerking off in a public bathroom in one's place of work, like a horny teenage boy that can't stop thinking about sex. But, since I pretty much am a horny teenage boy, I don't care.

I immerse myself in pictures of Bella, real and imagined, of me sliding that damp t-shirt over her head, running my hands over her hot skin, cupping her breasts in my hand (Bella is mostly bra-less in my fantasies) and feeling those tantalizing nipples harden in my palms as I press her up against the wall and plunge my tongue deep into her mouth, swallowing her moan... And this is about as long as I last before swallowing my own moan and spurting into my hand and the prepared wad of toilet paper. My heart beats wildly and I feel myself covered with a light sheen of sweat. If I ever got the chance to be inside Bella it would probably be too brief and totally humiliating, so I should count myself lucky that it won't happen.

In the afternoon, before Kate takes over the kitchen from Jim, she shows me the basic stuff of how to work the cash register until she's satisfied I've got it, and then gives me a four-week schedule like the rest of the staff. I will alternate opening at 6 AM with Carmen and Charlotte, and will be closing at 6 PM every third week. Kate takes care of the cash and receipts every day, and on the days when she can't make it that's Carmen's responsibility. I will be free on either Saturday or Sunday, and an alternating day of the week. I will continue to get a little more than the minimum wage for now, and we will discuss a raise next month.

"So, how did you like Ink it Black?" Kate asks, as we are wrapping it up, and I prepare to head out.

"Well, the place was really cool, and the bartender seemed like an interesting guy. I might go back there later this summer if they have live music. I think I'd enjoy that." I weigh back and forth on the balls of my feet, impatient to go.

"Are you into music or are you a musician?" Kate quips, but her face is friendly and genuinely curious.

I hesitate. "I play the piano, and I taught myself the guitar, but I just play for myself, not in public. So, don't plan on exploiting me like you do Carmen", I add with a smirk.

Kate waves me away. "Don't know what you're talking about there, Edward. I'm just offering you a shot at fame and fortune, but if you're content to do the dirty dishes I am not likely to complain. I'm looking forward to taking you with us on karaoke night, though. I bet you would look the part of "boy band singer with floppy hair" singing something along the lines of _When you say nothing at all_", she smirks right back at me, and I retreat with pretended gestures of horror and distress. Karaoke – I'm so not going there.

When I get home – my heart lurches a little bit when I realize I've started thinking about this as "home" – I can see that someone's been around during my absence, because all the furniture is gone from the deck, there are bags of stuff that weren't there before and it's started to look like a construction site, messy and busy. Something is coming up in an extension from the farthest wall. I guess Rosalie was serious about building a new outdoor grill, or maybe this Emmett McCarthy guy is a really good salesman.

I unlock the door and call out Bella's name like I always do, hoping that she's home so we can go for that run together. Even though I feel beat after a day spent mostly on my feet I now perk up at the idea of running with Bella. Hell, I perk up at the idea of just generally being around Bella, if truth be told.

I hear her breathless voice coming from the direction of the living room, and I find her on the floor in front of the flat screen I so seldom see her use. There's some kind of exercise video on, and I am mesmerized by the sight of Bella dressed in rather tight black yoga pants and a tight black top that exposes more than usual of her arms, throat and chest doing some kind of bending that leaves her with her ass in the air in the most fascinating way. I am sure that if she were facing the other way I would have an equally fascinating view of the top of her cleavage, and I look forward to such a time. A lot.

"What's going on here, Bella – what are you doing?" I ask, in a voice that I can hear comes out sounding a little strangled, but that's surely excusable when a man is in shock?

Bella dumps down on all fours, turns around and sits down on the floor facing me, with her back to the flat screen, and her face is flushed, if from embarrassment or exertion I can't tell.

"Oh. Well, I went down to the shop that Rosalie recommended today to get some new sweats, and they got me interested in trying out yoga, so…" her voice trails off as she drops her gaze and starts picking at the edge of what I now understand is her new yoga mat.

"Wow, yoga huh? I don't know anything about that, but it sure looks…interesting. What about taking a run with me? Or have you decided you'll be doing yoga instead?" I feel a small surge of disappointment at the realization that this might mean that Bella is giving up running on the beach altogether.

She quickly looks up and shakes her head. "No, that's not what I meant. I still want to do the running routine with you, if you're not too tired that is?" She looks hopeful and worried and guilty all at once, so I quickly nod to put her at her ease. She smiles then, and gets up to get the remote off the coffee table, and turns off the DVD. I glance appreciatively at the curve of her ass when she turns her back to me. It really is a very awesome ass, and I would like to see it in a pair of jeans a lot tighter than the ones she normally wears.

She turns back to me, and I determine to keep my eyes on her face at all times, to not make her feel self-conscious, listening to her rambling on about how yoga is supposed to be good for agility and balance and core strength which she really needs. I'm sure she's right, but all I can think of is whether I can find an excuse to be around when she does yoga next time, in those very clothes, hopefully.

"So, I'm just going to go change, and I'll meet you outside, okay?" I say to speed things up a bit, as I back off, sprinting off to my room to dump my dirty clothes and change into my running things really quickly. I can see that I need to do laundry soon, and I make a mental note to myself to check with Bella if I can do her laundry with mine. The brief insight that doing laundry might mean that I get to handle Bella's panties and bras are an awful distraction threatening to take away the focus from our evening run, so I shove that thought aside for later.

When she comes out on the deck where I've started warming up, I am at once elated and disappointed. She is no longer wearing her tight, black yoga getup, but neither is she ensconced in those awful baggy sweats anymore. My girl, correction, Bella, is wearing a pair of knee-length black tight pants that almost certainly show off her awesome ass, but unfortunately she is also wearing a big men's t-shirt that completely covers the aforementioned ass. I sigh internally, but settle for what I can get, which is pretty damn good: an hour of uninterrupted Bella-time.

We never speak when we run, because I don't want to disrupt Bella's concentration on her running. She keeps dropping hints about how clumsy she is, but I don't see it. When she runs there's an absolute focus about her every movement, as if she is fighting a personal battle with the sand, beating it down with determination as she runs across it, every step a personal victory. She seems almost fierce, her rasping breaths a syncopated beat to the rhythmic swing of her arms and legs. She's not exceptionally fast, I know I could easily outrun her, but I don't mind adjusting my tempo to hers. It seems to me that this is the essence of Bella: her determination to do everything she does as well as she can, her mental and physical focus total, no excuses, no side tracks, just do it. I smile to myself. I should get Bella one of those Nike t-shirts. In size small.

I know when to turn around and start back the way we came, I don't have to check the time or the distance. Bella gets this glazed look towards the end, as if she's either super tired or going into a trance, but it doesn't worry me like it did the first time. She is probably just psyching herself up, finding her last strength to finish the run, as if she has the knack of knowing exactly where her own limits lie. At this time of the early evening there are still quite a number of people at the beach, and I slow down as we come closer to the house, watching a man who is surfing towards the shore on the swell. It's not the best day for surfing, but he manages to get the most out of the wave, balancing with a paddle in his hand, jumping into the water at the end when the momentum's fading. I stop and stand there stretching my back muscles, when I hear Bella pant out behind me:

"Hey, isn't that the guy from Ink it Black? What is he doing here?"

I squint against the light on the water and I see that she's right. Walking up from the sea, dragging his board, is the bartender we met on Saturday night, like some kind of weird Californian Adonis. He is tall, and built, his well-defined abs and six-pack like something out of Men's Health Magazine. He is not as tan as you would expect with that kind of body, but the paleness of his skin only serves as a more dramatic backdrop to his tattoos, which are quite impressive seen like this, crawling across his chest, back and arms, even down his legs, in muted blues, greens, reds and the inevitable black ink.

Before I have the chance to say anything or move away from the water, he has caught sight of us looking at him, frowns, shakes the water out of his longish hair, and then the frown turns into a white smile as he tugs the board out of the water, leaves it with the paddle on the sand and jogs up to us, holding out a hand.

"Hey, we met the other night at the bar, Edward, right?"

I'm too caught off guard by the fact that he remembered my name to do anything but shake his hand and bark out some kind of affirmative noise, and his attention immediately turns to Bella.

"And I recognize this pretty lady too, but I don't think I have the pleasure of knowing your name. I'm Tony. Pleased to meet you."

He's shaking her hand, smiling that winning smile, enveloping her small hand in his big, wet one, and I feel uncomfortable about the fact that Bella is confronted by a half-naked, unknown man when she herself is completely wiped out from her run and probably itching to get back to the house, within cover of her own four walls. I shift my weight from one foot to the other, antsy, waiting for a cue from Bella what I should do. My eyes widen as I notice the rings in Tony's nipples, standing at attention in the slight breeze from the sea. My God, this man is unreal!

She is still panting and high in colour, but attempts to be polite although her deer-in-headlights expression is a dead giveaway that she's uncomfortable with the situation.

"Yes, I remember, pleased to meet you too, Tony. I'm Bella. We just came back from our run, so please excuse me, I'm not really in any state to be making introductions, I was just going to…" she gestures vaguely towards the beach house, and gently extricates her fingers from Tony's grasp, taking a tiny step back. Tony runs a hand through his wet hair, and I notice how water drops make tiny rivulets down his broad back, skimming the outline of a phoenix spreading its wings, rising from fire and ashes. He laughs, gives a small shrug and looks over at me.

"Sure, I'm probably not at my best right now, I just wanted to say hi. So you live close to the beach? That's sweet. And you're not too far away from Ink it Black either. Maybe I'll get to see you there again?"

"Why aren't you at the bar?" I hear myself blurt out. Nice, Edward, no brain filter. But I feel somehow irritated at the fact of Tony being here right now, interrupting my Bella-time, distracting her from the calming effects of the run.

He doesn't seem to take offense, though, as he answers me, still smiling: "Monday's the only day we're closed, so I've been doing inventory and paper work a lot of the day and now I thought I'd reward myself with a little physical exercise. Nice to get out."

"Isn't the water…cold?" I hear Bella's timid question, and I notice that I've moved around unconsciously so that I'm yet again standing between her and Tony, angling my body protectively so that she is half behind me. I quickly step a little to the side so as not to appear as a complete asshole, and I think Tony gives me a slightly puzzled look as he replies: "No, it's fine when you're used to it. You move around a lot, so you keep up your body temperature that way too. Have you tried surfing?"

Bella snorts, and then reddens, clearing her throat. "No, I don't really do any physical sports except running, and I doubt I could ever stand up on one of those." She nods at the board, safely anchored on the sand.

"And yoga." I add, randomly, earning surprised looks from both Tony and Bella. Now it's my turn to feel slightly stupid, but I throw a smirk in Bella's direction for good measure, and I am rewarded with a slightly dazed look on her face as I continue: "Yoga is supposed to help with balance and core strength, right, so now that you've taken up yoga soon surfing is not going to be a problem anymore, don't you think?"

Tony seems to take my comment at face value, but Bella gives me a dirty look as she grasps what I mean.

"Yes, Maryann does yoga too, and she says it's great for balance and muscle tone. Maryann works with me at the bar, we're sort of partners" he adds, squinting up at the sun that is definitely lower in the sky."Well, I should get going. But if you ever want to try surfing, look me up, Bella. I used to be an instructor before, so I have a lot of patience with people who are absolute beginners. I hope I see you at the bar sometime."

And with a nod he walks off to pick up his board, and I can't help noticing that Bella looks at his bare inked back and muscular legs before turning towards the house as we start the plodding walk through the warm sand, avoiding running kids and teens with beach volleyballs goofing around.

Doing stretching exercises on the deck with Bella in her new outfit turns out to be distracting, since I have to remind myself not to ogle her in the hope that her too big t-shirt will slip in some interesting direction. I feel a surge of exasperation and guilt at my own thoughts, but I guess I was a bit thrown by our encounter with the bartender on the beach. I don't know what's worse: the thought that Bella would be made to feel intimidated and uncomfortable just by meeting him, or the idea that there might be some kind of mutual attraction between them.

On the one hand, I don't want Bella to end up cowering on the ground every time a man expresses his interest in her, on the other hand I don't like the thought of any man getting close and personal with her, any man at all. And Tony…hmmm. He must be in his thirties or something, weird with his tattoos and piercings, but is clearly a good-looking guy with some charisma. I grit my teeth and tell myself that I am neither Bella's keeper nor her boyfriend, just her house guest. I just feel so…protective of her, that's all. I really hope that Maryann, the dark girl from the bar is his life partner. That would be..easier.

After I'm done showering, I sort out my white and dark stuff on the floor of the laundry room, pause outside Bella's closed door, but continue to the kitchen to fix myself something to eat first before I ask her if she wants me to wash something for her. I don't want to intrude any more on her privacy than absolutely necessary.

When Bella eventually walks into the kitchen, her hair wrapped in a blue towel turban, wearing the usual pair of baggy jeans and an oversized shirt, I ask her if she wants me to make her another grilled mozzarella-and-tomato sandwich, but she declines, and fixes herself some fruit and yogurt in a bowl instead.

"So did this McCarthy-guy turn up today?" I ask, as I put the sandwich under the grill.

Bella makes a face, and I smile because her scrunched-up nose looks childish and adorable.

"Yes. And I am so glad I didn't let Rosalie talk me into letting them have their own set of keys. I told Rosalie that they were welcome after 9 o'clock, but of course the bastards had to ring the doorbell at eight in the morning! I was just getting out of the shower, so I had to scramble like crazy to get the door." She blushes, and that's kind of adorable too. "And then all they really needed was to dump all the furniture from the deck in the empty bedroom which could easily have waited, because then they went on a coffee break or something, only to turn up again as I was getting some lunch ready and itching to get out." She shakes her head, then gets up to get some more water before settling down at the counter again.

"I talked to Rosalie on the phone this afternoon, and she seems really into Emmett McCarthy. She's even considering coming back here tomorrow to see "how he's doing". I've told her that chances are he won't show up at all, or only at some time when she isn't here, so it would probably be better if she asked him out on a date. But that suggestion only earned me a growl from her, so I guess it's not in the cards."

"So, did Rosalie have anything to say about me staying here?" I hesitate to ask, but I really want to know. Talking to Rosalie Hale was probably one of the scariest things I've done in a while: it wasn't so much her physical appearance that was daunting, as the ice queen vibe that came off her, blue eyes that felt like cold water sliding down the back of my shirt when she fixed them on me with that predatory smile of hers. I shudder slightly, remembering.

She asked me bluntly about my age, occupation, criminal record, health and sexual orientation, and I found myself blurting out a mix of truths and half-truths, my only comfort the fact that I guessed guys were normally this flustered when given the Rosalie Hale-interrogation-treatment. Her warning that if I hurt Bella in any way, then she would come after me was scary and kind of comforting at the same time, because at least that meant someone was looking out for Bella. She seemed somewhat pacified by my answers and now I can only hope that she will leave me alone.

Bella frowns and tugs at her bottom lip with her teeth before replying.

"She's okay with you staying here." She looks up at me, an apologetic look on her face. "With all that drama that went down when the contractor showed up, I forgot to check with you if you were okay. I hope she didn't insult you or assault you behind my back?"

I snort. "Bella, if Rosalie Hale decided to insult me or assault me, I think I would just curl up on the floor and take it lying down. I would be too intimidated to protest."

She tries a smile, but her eyes are serious. "Edward, she's an old friend, but you are a friend too. I don't want anyone to treat you badly, even if it should be with the best intentions. This is her house, but if she were to object to you staying here, we could _both _leave, you know. I'm not obligated to stay here, nor do I have to chuck you out on the street. This isn't for Rosalie to decide. It's between you and me, alright?"

Once again, I feel a sense of sudden vertigo when I realize that Bella is standing up for me, Bella is willing to call me her friend. It's humbling. I feel unworthy. But that in itself isn't new. I clear my throat, trying to communicate with a shrug that I accept what she's saying.

"Thank you. But please, don't disrupt your life for me." When I look up again, Bella is dropping her empty bowl in the sink and heading for the door. I hear her low voice as she pauses before exiting.

"It's already been disrupted, Edward."

* * *

**A/N: I haven't rec'd any fics so far, because I think you're all way ahead of me, but if you don't know it, I really think you should look up High Anxiety, by IreenH. It's a bumpy ride, but I've seldom been more thrilled and impatient for a fic to update!**

**If you have time, please let me know what you think! Should Bella keep doing yoga? Should Edward join her? Should he stop being so darn jealous?Should Edward stop wanking off in secret and tell Bella how he really feels about her? (Well, that's a given…) Thank you for your support!**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Disclaimer - I don't have a beta, so all the mistakes are mine. Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. Thank you for reading! I promise to answer all reviews as long as you log in first so I can find you…Early update this week because I'm busy Friday. Enjoy!**

* * *

******Chapter 16.**

_The trilling wire in the blood_

_Sings below inveterate scars_

_Appeasing long forgotten wars._

T. S. Eliot: Burnt Norton.

* * *

**BPOV**

In the days that follow, we find a new, jagged sort of routine. I get up at 7 and do yoga in the living room after Edward has left for work, then shower and have something to eat, tense because I never know exactly when there will be a ring at the door and the booming voice of Emmett McCarthy starts echoing around the house. I can't believe he normally spends so much time around a simple project, since he seems to have 4 or 5 guys working for him, perfectly capable of doing the job. Somehow I think he hopes that Rose will magically appear, because his eyes keep darting around me whenever he calls on me, as if he thinks I'm hiding her in the back of a closet like a possessive mother.

I have put my foot down about not waiting around after 1 o'clock, and as soon as they tell me they don't need me I leave the house for the day, to run errands, take a walk or find somewhere quiet to write when I feel the need to get out of the house. When I return, I work on my notes, wait for Edward and then we go running before he makes dinner or we just eat some leftovers while we talk. Later we go grocery shopping, or listen to music or watch a movie, or sometimes we just read. He seems content, and I love just being with him, watching him, listening to him. I find myself almost wishing he _was _one of my students, because I love his mind and his sense of humour, and I would love to be his intellectual sparring partner, arguing with him, exploring and supporting his interests.

I don't go to the café now, partly because I don't want to freak Edward out and make him feel as if I'm stalking him at work, partly because I don't want to talk to Kate. That woman is much too shrewd and would probably try to weasel out what I know about Edward, and I feel that giving her information or not is his decision to make, not mine. Not that I know very much.

This is just another thing I try to push from my mind: thinking about Edward's past and Edward's future. Instead I tell myself to focus on my own future. I will probably have finished the manuscript in another week or so, in time for the deadline and the publishers have been pleased about the chapters I've sent so far: according to Eve, my editor, it's solid enough to be picked up as a good academic text book and "sexy" enough to sell to the educated and semi-educated crowd who want to feel smart and on top of things.

I don't know if I should feel pleased or not about this, since it makes me feel shoved into the ranks of writers toting the latest "Shakespeare was a woman!" –theory or "The Dead Sea scrolls _really _prove that Jesus was a homosexual but have been secretly edited by the Pope!". Eve, however, doesn't have a problem with this and predicts good sales, which is always a positive thing in her world. "Sex, love and Shakespeare - for a high-brow audience!" as she labels it. I sigh, just thinking about it.

I have found another place where I like to write, a coffee shop close to the beach, where I have a corner table not too far from the door, able to look out of the shop window at the people in the street and the blue sky, but shielded by the wall and in the shadiest corner of the room. People walking in have their back turned to me as they order, and most opt to sit outside anyway, since the weather is nice all the time. I am almost invisible.

The décor is all dark browns and gold, with a carefully contrived "old-fashioned" feel to it, and the menu is a mix of healthy Californian and faux French. I have a coffee or a tea, or both, and sometimes knock myself out and have a fruit salad, all the while hiding behind my laptop. Only, I notice that in spite of my embarrassing break-down at the house the other night, I am generally feeling better, more at ease now when I'm out in public. Being with Edward has made me feel more normal, strangely. The way he accepts me, moves around me, looks at me, as if I'm a normal, intelligent, reasonably funny and reasonably attractive person has me almost convinced that it's true. If he can see it, maybe others can see it too?

However, I have made new appointments with Dr Banner on the next couple of Fridays, since forewarned is forearmed. If there is one thing I want to change in my life, it is this sort of social phobia I have developed. I long to teach again, to stand confidently in front of a group of people and connect with them about things that I love, not fearing an impending panic attack. I want to go out with friends, even in crowded places, concerts, restaurants, without feeling as if the eyes of strangers are boring holes in my flesh, despising me. I never deluded myself I could be popular, but that only meant I was comfortable being ignored. In the months after the divorce this has changed, now I think people are actually noticing me, only to look at me with thinly veiled disgust. Well, on some level of rationality I know that they probably don't, but it sure _feels_ like it.

Today is a pretty good day, I'm pleased with the work I've done on Beatrice and Katherina and I'm done revising, so I have decided to just relax for thirty minutes before going home and read something for fun while enjoying a cup of fragrant jasmine tea. I pull a poetry book out of my bag and settle into my corner. Reading poetry is one of my indulgences, almost like sex, just relax and let yourself go, open yourself up to the experience and set your senses to high alert so that you don't miss a thing. I sigh, content.

An indefinite amount of time later, I am roused out of my communion with "The Cinnamon Peeler" by the awareness that someone is standing by my table, silently waiting to catch my attention. Confused, I look up and see Tony, the bartender standing there, smiling down at me, with a cup of coffee in one hand, the other hooked in the belt of his worn black Levi's. He's wearing a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing the picture of a sexy girl on his one arm, and some kind of floral pattern on the other one. I've never known any men with tattoos before, so I am slightly flustered to see him smiling at me now, since to me tattoos always meant bikers, prison, drugs and dropping out of high school because your mother is unemployed and your brother is pushing drugs from your front porch. I'm probably biased, but the wariness is there all the same.

"Hi there," Tony says, his voice is warm and low and kind of vibrates from somewhere deep in his chest. I have the random thought that he would make a good radio host, before lowering my book and remembering my manners.

"Oh, hello. Eh, what are you doing here?" I straighten up and push my chair back so that I have room to stand up, unconsciously preparing my getaway. To my surprise, he nods at the seat in front of me, and sits down in one fluent movement, before I get that he's asking my permission. Hey, it's a free country! I move five inches more, annoyed when I see him setting his cup of coffee down on my table, only to pick up my book.

"Hmm, Michael Ondaatje? I wasn't aware of the fact that he wrote poetry? But that is kind of funny, I read this book by him, "In the Skin of a Lion" and I was thinking the whole time that it was like prose on the verge of becoming poetry. Prose trying to burst out of its skin, if you get what I mean?" He is still smiling at me, leaning back in his seat, leafing slowly through my book, completely relaxed, while I am feeling increasingly on edge. Why on earth is he here, talking to me, and making rather acute literary observations? This is too weird. Am I on Candid Camera?

I lean forward and snatch the book out of his hands. "Yes, I read "In the Skin of a Lion" too, and I agree with you, it did seem to be bursting with metaphor. Not necessarily a good thing, though. Sometimes I prefer my prose to stay in its skin." I am making all these small movements to indicate that I'm done and on my way, finishing my tea, pulling my bag up from the floor, patting my pockets to make sure I have my keys.

"Oh, so you're a Hemingway kind of girl?" he asks, sounding genuinely interested now. "Brief and spare, exquisite bone structure but not too fleshy?" His dark eyes flash at me, with humour or with a challenge I'm not sure. I notice that there's dark stubble covering his jaw and I wonder if that's self-expression or just laziness.

Right now I feel completely confused; is he talking about Hemingway or is he trying to make fun of me? Not too fleshy?

"Yes, well, every English major go through their Hemingway-crush, don't they?" I snap. "I didn't peg you for a student of literature, but I guess I was just narrow-minded. Please don't let me keep you, I have to be moving on now." I get up and start to put my book away, only to freeze when his large hand envelops mine. His fingers are slightly calloused, rough against my skin, and part of my brain wonders if he plays the guitar or just does a lot of manual labour.

"Sorry, I won't keep you, Bella, but would you mind if I borrowed this? I promise I'll return it here at the café for you to collect. I come in every day for coffee. Would that be okay?"

I am caught between the possible threat of his hand on mine, his intense blue eyes, and the body poised to spring from his chair on the one hand, and my own wish to please and deflect his attention away from myself, plus it's almost a knee-jerk reaction on my part to encourage reading in others. I take a deep breath, let go of the book and straighten up. "Yes, sure, of course. That's fine. I come in regularly too."

Tony stands up, and picks up the book and his cup of coffee, giving me room to exit, and then follows me out of the coffee shop with a goodbye to the guy at the cash register. Before I know it, we're walking down the street side by side and I can't help asking; ""Where are you going? Do you live here?" He is tall and broad-shouldered and looks kind of dangerous with his long hair and facial piercings. I wonder briefly what it might feel like to eat ice cream or drink hot coffee with metal stuck in your tongue, or kissing a person. Could a tongue piercing get stuck in another person's lip rings when they kiss? I shudder briefly as I imagine the discomfort.

He smiles at me again, and it really is a very nice smile. "Ink it Black is just on the other side of the block, so I come here for coffee all the time. They have the best French pastries too, if you ever come out for brunch on a weekend."

"Oh. Yes, they have really good coffee." I answer blandly, adjusting my bag on my shoulder, hoping we'll reach the corner soon, where I will turn.

"Do you need help with that?" he asks, with a frown, and it takes me a minute to realize he's talking about my bag with my laptop and books.

"No, no I'm fine. Hey, are you open now? Are you skipping work just to get your coffee fix?" He smirks at me.

"Yes, we're open, but the rush hour won't start until five o'clock, so Maryann is doing fine for ten minutes without me." We come to an abrupt stop on the corner as we both realize this is where we part ways.

"So, I hope you enjoy the book", I say brightly, preparing to take off. I can see the sign of Ink it Black further down the street.

"Wait a minute. Bella, will you do me a favour?" He is holding out the book. "Will you show me your favourite poem before you go?" He seems completely sincere, and I try to wrap my head around the fact that this guy I've just met who tends bar, looks like an ex-convict and has the body of an underwear model, is standing on the street asking me about my favourite poem. I let my eyes do an inward eye roll and decide that the only way to approach this surreal situation is like he appears to, with complete sincerity.

I sigh, take the book and look up page 81. "Here," I say. "If you read nothing else, you should read this. It will make you feel better."

He looks down, marks the page with one of his long fingers, leans down and kind of kisses my cheek, very briefly, like the touch of a falling leaf, before raising his hand in a sort of wave and walking off. Without looking back. Which I happen to notice only because I stand too long on the sidewalk watching him walk away with a stupid expression on my stupid face.

Wow. If this keeps up I may have to see Dr Banner _twice_ a week.

* * *

**EPOV**

Bella seems distracted tonight. She is fidgeting, pulling at the hair at the nape of her neck, and she's missed what I've said to her twice. It could be that she is fascinated by the book she is reading, but I'm not so sure. I shrug and stretch in the chair, holding my hands above my head and rolling my neck back, almost losing hold of the book I'm reading. When I look at her again, I catch her staring at me, a strange look on her face, but she blushes and drops her gaze quickly to the book in her lap, before I can puzzle out what she's really looking at.

"Are you okay, Bella? You seem…out of sorts," I offer.

She shakes her head. "No, it's nothing, personal stuff. I'm going in to town tomorrow, I have a doctor's appointment to keep, maybe I'm just nervous."

I sit up, concerned. "You're not sick, are you?"

She gives me a wry look. "No, not unless you call my panic attacks and generally debilitating social phobia a sickness?" I stiffen, not sure how I should take her words. Is she kidding, mocking herself or me?

She sighs and puts her book down, pulling on her pony tail again. "Sorry, I shouldn't say things like that, I can see that it makes you uncomfortable. I only mean that I'm seeing my psychiatrist tomorrow, that's all. I decided to try to see her a bit more frequently." She shrugs, frustration written all over her face, and I feel my stomach clench, sensing her pain. "I don't know if it will help, since this isn't something you can treat like an infection, but I decided I needed to try harder again. I need to focus on my long-term goals."

I hesitate before I ask her: "Would you like me to come along? I'm free Friday and Saturday this week. That is, unless you prefer to go alone?"

I try to read her expression, but it's hard. Finally she says: "I appreciate you offering to come with me, Edward, I do, but it would probably feel awkward and boring. I'm going to see my editor and my psychiatrist and you'd just be stuck waiting around for me in some office for a really long time. If you want to go into town I could drop you off somewhere, of course, and pick you up on the way home? Is that what you want?"

I shake my head, and I can feel my face clouding over with disappointment. "No, that's fine, I don't need to go into the city, I just thought you might like the company, that's all. I've got plenty to occupy myself with here." I prefer to keep away from places where people might possibly be looking for me, like maybe bus and train stations, shelters and police stations.

Bella gets up, indicating that she's going to bed. "It would really be a help if you could stick around here tomorrow morning, to make sure that the contractors have everything they need. Emmett said that they should be done with the deck by Friday, and I don't really have the time to wait for them to wrap up until one o'clock or however long they'll be around. Would that be okay?"

I nod. Sure. Anything. "I'll be here Bella. Do you think you'll be home in time to go for a run, or should I go without you?" I feel kind of wistful, like a kid waiting for his parents to come home from a weekend trip.

She smiles. "Yes, I look forward to our evening runs too much to miss out on that. I'll be home by seven at the latest, or earlier depending on the traffic. Good night Edward. Thanks a lot for sacrificing some of your day off for me."

After she's gone I sit on the couch for a while, flipping through channels mindlessly, thinking. Odd memories come back at times when I'm not expecting them to. Maybe I should see a shrink too?

_I'm coming home from school, a friend's mother drops me off, and I ring the door, impatient to get in and tell my mother about my day, but before anyone can answer the door I try the handle and find the door unlocked. I rush in, straight to the kitchen, where I hear voices, and I'm shouting "Mom, you will never believe what happened in school today…" I skid to a stop when I enter the large kitchen where the light is flooding in through windows on two walls. Mom is there, but she is not alone. A woman I don't know is sitting on one of the chairs, and Alice is standing between her knees, trembling. My mother is on the phone, talking in an agitated voice, trying to keep calm._

"_But that's what I'm trying to tell you, I just came home. I think we need to make an appointment with a specialist as soon as possible. Can I trust you to do that? Thank you. No, I don't think anyone is going to press charges. We can talk about that later, not now. Alice and Edward are both here now, and I have things I need to do. I will see you later. Try to get home earlier if you can."_

_She puts the phone down, and turns her back to us as she replaces the phone on the kitchen counter. Her back looks tired and scared. She is wearing a green dress and pretty, brown shoes, and her hair is the colour of toffee. My Mom is pretty, the prettiest I know. But she's not really my Mom, I know that too, although we don't talk about it too much. She is Esme, but I can call her Mom, because that makes it simpler when I talk to my friends in school. _

_Suddenly I remember what I was so excited about, and I run up to her, hugging her around the waist and talking excitedly. "You don't know, but we played soccer today, and Mr Connor said I should try out for the soccer team. There's a boys' team for boys my age and they're really good, Mr Connor says, but I am really good at soccer too, so I still have the chance to play with them. Please, please Mom, can I play on the soccer team?"_

_Mom briefly strokes my hair, and I love it when she does it but it's not as often as I would like, and then she gently pries my hands away from her waist so that she can move. "That's lovely,darling, and we will talk more about that when Dad gets home tonight, but right now I think you and Alice need a snack, and after that you're going to watch some TV while I prepare the dinner, okay?"_

_I can tell by the tone of her voice that something is wrong, and I look over at Alice, who looks as if she's been crying. The woman who is holding Alice lightly by the arms has brown hair turning grey and a kind face where all the lines look sad but prepared for smiling. She is wearing slacks and a sweater and she is not pretty but I think I could like her anyway, unless she is hurting Alice. _

_Suddenly Alice twists in her hands and hurls herself across the kitchen at me, gripping my middle tightly with tiny arms as thin as sticks but strong as a bear's. "Edward!" she sobs into my chest. I awkwardly pat her back and stroke her hair, because I think she likes it too. "What's wrong?" I whisper quietly. "Are you sick? Did you get in a fight?" _

_Alice has a temper, I know, and there have been times in the park or on the playground when she has gotten herself in fights, with both boys and girls, sometimes bigger than her. Alice is scary when she's angry, because she's never afraid and she doesn't stop, not until you press her down on the ground and sit on top of her so that she can't move. She has hurt me many times, but I know I have to be careful with her, because I'm a boy and because I'm older and stronger. I must never lose my temper around Alice, even if it's hard._

_Mom is standing beside us now, stroking both our heads, and she says quietly: "Alice would you like to sit with Edward in the living room and watch TV while I prepare a snack for you? You can eat it in front of the television if you promise to be careful and not spill on the couch." _

_My eyes widen because this is breaking one of the fundamental rules of this house; no eating in front of the television. The only exception is popcorn when we watch a family movie together, and then we all get our own bowls, and have to eat the popcorn keeping the bowl on our lap so that we won't spill. _

_Alice nods her head, still sobbing, and I curl my arm around her shoulders and walk with her into the living room. While Alice climbs on the couch, I take the remote and turn to the children's channel. These cartoons are not my favourite, but I know that Alice is entranced by anything colourful that moves on the screen, and this is for her, not for me._

_I sit on the couch too, noticing that I forgot to remove my shoes, and Alice is still wearing hers, so I remove them and put them on the floor by the couch, side by side like cars parked in a garage. When I sit down again, Alice slides up to me and snuggles into my side. I whisper "What happened, Alice? Did you do something bad? Who is that lady in the kitchen with Mom?"_

_Alice shakes her head, her attention on the screen, then whispers back. "Lily took my scissors and wouldn't give them back. So I took them and I spanked her hand so that her hand would remember not to take them anymore. Lily's hand was bad. But then she cried and everyone started screaming and I was upset and then they took me away and called Mom, and that lady came home with us. I hope she's leaving soon. I don't like her. Her hands are cold."_

_I'm confused, because things like this happen every day with Alice, and normally she calms down and then everything is normal again. But I know that sometimes when Alice can't stop screaming and beating me Mom has to carry her to her room and hold her there until she calms down. Maybe that's why they had to come home, because Alice's room is here, and there is no room in school where they can carry Alice when she gets like that. And the lady probably had to drive, so that Mom could hold her in the car, to prevent her from hurting herself or the car._

_I relax a little bit, because I think I understand what happened now. It's too bad that Alice has to lose her temper in school, because I know that she frightens the other children and that makes it hard for her to make friends. I know Alice better, and I know that she isn't a bad person. She loves everyone, and she is happy most of the time, and full of laughter and fun. She loves to play, and she's almost always full of energy and ideas, bubbling with words and with music. _

_It's just as if there are two clouds living in Alice, one is a pink and silver cloud that makes her bounce and be happy, and one is a red and black cloud that makes her angry and out of control. When her eyes glitter, the silver cloud lives in her, and when her eyes turn black it's the black cloud. It's not complicated if you know her. When she turns black you just have to be very careful , and be prepared to get Mom or Dad or some other adult to help you calm her down._

_Mom comes in with two plates and two glasses of milk and tells us to eat very carefully. She has made us PJ sandwiches, Alice's favourite, and cut off the crusts and made small triangles of them. I sit on the edge of the couch with my plate in my lap and eat my sandwich very carefully, keeping all the crumbs on the plate and making sure my fingers don't get sticky and then I drink my milk, all of it, so that there won't be any to spill._

_I see that Alice is not paying enough attention to her snack, she is watching the TV and giggling, and there are crumbs around her, and she has smeared a little glob of peanut butter on the couch. I sigh and lean around her, using my napkin to wipe off the peanut butter, but it's too difficult. I feel guilty, because now I only smeared the peanut butter around and Mom will be disappointed in me. Alice moves and sits on the spot and I feel relieved, hoping that no one will notice until much later. In the kitchen I hear voices that sound as if they are arguing politely, and I take the remote to turn up the television because I don't like that sound. It makes me uncomfortable._

It's late when I finally turn off the television and check the windows and doors, turning off the lights as I go to my room. The door to the laundry room is open, and I look in and notice the laundry baskets with neatly folded towels sitting on top of the washing machine and dryer. I smile, remembering how Bella's eyes widened when I asked her if I could do her laundry. She obviously didn't trust that I would know what I'm doing, so she found excuses to "help" me, checking that I knew how to sort the whites from the darks and reds and not wash the delicates on high temperatures, emptying pockets and turning trousers inside out. I shake my head. I guess she's spent too much time around college kids who still take their laundry home to their mothers. I on the other hand started helping my mother with this stuff when I was around 9 or 10. Not that she asked me to or anything, just because I wanted to help any way I could.

Bella managed to swipe her underwear away from me without making a big deal about it, but now I know that she mostly wears black or white cotton panties without frills and that she handwashes her black and white bras herself in her bathroom where she probably hangs them to dry too. She has two elastic black sports bras too, and these I managed to take care of without her noticing. I guess that's what she wears when we're running or when she's doing yoga, but they sure don't manage to keep her breasts _completely_ from bouncing. I've noticed.

After I've brushed my teeth and washed my face, I lie on my bed in the darkness and let my thoughts wander. I feel relaxed but not sleepy. Finally I give in around 1 a.m. and silently pad through the house, stopping outside Bella's door. It's become a kind of creepy routine, but I notice I sleep better after watching Bella sleep for a while. Her room is dark and silent, except for her almost inaudible breaths and I can make out the dark shape of her head on the pillow, and an arm slung out across the bed. I sit in the chair close to the door, so I won't disturb her by coming too close, and feel her smell and warmth permeate the room, almost as if I were lying beside her, letting her quiet breathing calm me.

Sometimes she speaks in her sleep, usually I can't make out what she's saying, but I live for the few times I've heard her speak my name. It thrills me and calms me at the same time, the thought that I am with Bella in her dreams, and maybe that's one of the main reasons why I don't feel so bad about doing this. Because I am already with her.

I sit for maybe an hour, until I feel sleepy enough to quietly slip off and go to sleep in the darkness of my own room, the faint sounds from outside a backdrop to my dreams. And this is one of the bad nights…

_As soon as I see the house I know that I'm in trouble. I thought I did everything right, I waited until the rest of the house was quiet and everyone was asleep, I climbed out of my window, using the trellis to reach the roof of the garage, and then a short drop to the ground from the corner, using the drainpipe. Jon was waiting down the street with his brother and his brother's car, and they both grinned and high-fived me when I jumped into the car. _

_The party was a keg in someone's backyard, and we had to drive for almost an hour to get there. Even though it was a pretty chilly September night, people were hanging around in t-shirts and some of the girls wore really skimpy skirts and tops. I had taken a bottle of Jack from the back of my parents' bar that was almost untouched – my Dad likes to drink the expensive single malt stuff and my mother prefers Cosmos – and I was sharing it around with people I knew and some people I didn't know, along with cheap beer from the keg, enjoying the music and my growing buzz. _

_The plan was to get home at first light and sneak back in, and Jon promised that his brother's girlfriend Lindsay would be our designated driver for the drive back. Lindsay and Michael were both going to college, and most of the people at the party were college kids like them although some of the underdressed girls were obviously still in high school like me and Jon._

_When the Jack was all out Jon waved me over and introduced me to a group on the porch who were talking quietly and smoking some really good weed. I ended up sitting against the side of the house with a girl on my lap who complained that she was cold and snuggled into me. She smelled of smoke, and weed and perfume and autumn air and she was soft and giggly, so I kissed her some and warmed my hands on her soft, warm skin under her skimpy sweater, even though she complained and tried to swat them away._

_Then we were dancing in a dark room with a lot of other people and almost no furniture and no carpets on the floor, and she was wiggling her ass at me and pressing up against me which made my dick twitch, although she really wasn't my type, too young and too scrawny and with blonde dyed hair that didn't smell right when she nuzzled my chest and pressed her head against me. I excused myself to go to the bathroom, and when I came out again I felt a sort of headrush, as if the drinking and the smoking had finally caught up with me, and stumbled into Lindsay, who took me upstairs to lie down._

_And then I was on my back on a strange bed, in another dark room and Lindsay was above me, black hair hanging down around her face, and her blouse open and her bra off, and amazing, amazing tits just staring at me in the light from the street, and I couldn't believe how incredible they felt, when she let me touch them and nuzzle them and I moaned into her skin and held her to me with all I had, afraid that she would vaporize into thin air. _

_And then we fucked on that strange bed in the darkness, she rode me and plunged her fingers into my mouth and touched herself and cursed, and I lasted longer than I would have thought possible, but not as long as I would have wanted, because seriously, I wanted to fuck Lindsay forever, she was the hottest woman I'd ever been with. _

_Afterwards, she straightened our clothes, because I felt too weak to move, and she got rid of the condom, that I didn't remember using, and whispered to me that I was the hottest kid she'd ever fucked, but if I valued my life I wouldn't breathe a word to anyone and then maybe we could do it again sometime, and she left the room and I must have passed out for a while._

_Because next thing I knew, Jon was pulling me downstairs, cursing and telling me we had to move, because Lindsay was eager to go, and then I must have gone to sleep in the backseat of the car, with her smell in my nose and her voice humming to the car radio while Jon was snoring in the other corner, and Michael was smoking, with the window rolled down._

_And now I see my house as the grey morning comes creeping up on the horizon, and I can see that the lights are on downstairs and somehow my parents know that I have left the house without permission again. So I don't bother trying to climb the trellis in my semi-drunk, semi-hung-over state, but drag my tired ass across the lawn to the front door and use my key._

_Esme is slumped on the couch, and Carlisle is on the phone, walking around between the living room and the hallway, talking in a low, angry voice, trying not to wake Alice I guess. When they hear the door, both their heads snap up, Esme gets up and runs to me, while Carlisle finishes the call with a curt "He's here now. Goodbye." While Esme hugs me, I look at Carlisle over her shoulder, and I see that his eyes are tired and cold. Esme pulls away, and wrinkles her nose._

"_Edward, you smell awful, have you been drinking and smoking again? Beer and whisky? And is that weed I smell on you?" _

_I shrug and laugh, because Esme is such a hypocrite, even a hug is no simple form of endearment but her way of getting close enough to use her bulldog senses on me. No use denying it either, she always gets it right._

"_Yes, Esme, but you missed the sex, there should be some pussy, latex and cum in there with the mix too if you sniff me carefully enough." She backs off, her face red and her eyes tearing up, and I almost regret my words. But it's Carlisle who shoves my shoulder so that I stumble back against the door, and stands toe to toe with me, cold and furious._

"_You're disgusting, you know that? You don't get to speak to your mother that way, Edward, do you understand? I'll rip that dirty tongue out of your mouth if you try that shit again."_

_I swallow and reel, feeling emotionally and physically exhausted. "She's not my mother," is my only feeble, mumbled reply as I slump against the door, all the fight gone out of me._

_Carlisle backs down and runs his hand through his hair, exasperated. "Edward, you're acting like a child, a dangerous, unbalanced child. We are your parents for all intents and purposes, and we are responsible for you until you're an adult and starts behaving like one. If you keep this up, drinking, doing drugs, staying out at night doing God knows what and having sex with God knows who, you'll end up seriously hurt or dead, or maybe in jail, and with very few options for a future. If you want to sulk and pout, throw tantrums and complain, do it, but find some other way than this. This," and he jabs his index finger into my chest for emphasis, "this is sheer lunacy, and eventually hurts no one more than yourself."_

_I'm feeling cold and sick and want nothing more than my bed. "Fine, then I'll just keep on hurting myself and you can wash your hands of me and comfort yourselves with the thought that you'll be rid of me in a few years. But taking care of dangerous, unbalanced kids seems to be your favourite hobby, so I should think you're secretly pleased that I've started living up to the norm. Please, save me the speeches about how I am a bad example for Alice this time. She's already popping pills and cutting herself without my suggestions, so maybe you should focus on saving her instead of me?"_

_I hear Carlisle curse under his breath, and I hear a sort of whining gasp from Esme as I look up to see Alice standing at the top of the stairs in one of her band t-shirts and with her black hair sticking up all over the place. Her face is a pale heart shape in the dim light and her eyes are black and huge. She silently backs off and runs down the hall, and I hear the door slam behind her._

The slam wakes me up, my heart pounding and my body covered in a cold sweat. The light is streaming in through the windows and the slamming goes on. Now I hear a loud man's voice outside the house "Hey, anybody home? Are you sleeping late today? Hello!" and I realize that it's after 9 o'clock and Mc Carthy's crew are trying to break the door down for some reason. I stumble into some sweats and open the front door, trying to rub the sleep and the lingering nausea of the dream out of my face and mind. What a way to start the day.

* * *

**A/N: Well, what do you think? Should Bella feel threatened by Tony, or is he really a nice guy? Is Edward maybe the bad guy here? And what kind of relationship did you have with your siblings when you were young, (if you weren't an only child): did you fight or stick together? Were you allowed to eat in front of the TV? I wasn't! Please leave me your words: they mean a lot to me!**

**Another rec of a story that you may have come across already: If you want a fic that is mostly fluff and truly adorable, try The Port Angeles Players by WriteOnTime. I couldn't stop reading, smiled a lot and enjoyed every minute..**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Disclaimer - I don't have a beta, so all the mistakes are mine. Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. Thank you for reading! I promise to answer all reviews as long as you log in first so I can find you…This is where we left off last week:**

_Now I hear a loud man's voice outside the house "Hey, anybody home? Are you sleeping late today? Hello!" and I realize that it's after 9 o'clock and Mc Carthy's crew are trying to break the door down for some reason. I stumble into some sweats and open the front door, trying to rub the sleep and the lingering nausea of the dream out of my face and mind. __What a way to start the day._

* * *

**Chapter 17**

_Heaven loves ya  
The clouds part for ya  
Nothing stands in your way  
When you're a boy  
Clothes always fit ya  
Life is a pop of the cherry  
When you're a boy_

_When you're a boy  
You can wear a uniform  
When you're a boy  
Other boys check you out  
You get a girl  
These are your favorite things  
When you're a boy_

_Boys  
Boys  
Boys keep swinging  
Boys always work it out_

David Bowie: Boys Keep Swinging

* * *

**EPOV**

It's Emmett McCarthy himself, of course, big as a house and louder than a circus band and I wish to God that this man wasn't so _chipper_ all the time. Fuck, what's wrong with me.. I try my hardest to be friendly and drag up a weak smile. He immediately beams back at me and walks into the hallway.

"Good to see you, Edward. Bella isn't around, I take it? Do you happen to have any coffee in the house?"

I can't believe it when he just walks right into the kitchen and starts fiddling with the coffee machine as if he lived here. Bella was damned right to refuse these people a key or they would probably have been squatting here with their families when she got back from town. I frown and fold my arms across my chest, signaling disapproval.

"Do you want some coffee, too? You look as if you could need it. Bad night?"

And Emmett fucking _winks _at me while sniffing the coffee he's spooning into the filter.

"Mmmm, this is the good stuff, French roast, right? Ever been to Paris, Edward? It's a great city, very romantic. I recommend it."

I'm too stunned to think up a reply, and simply watch as Emmett deftly pulls out milk and coffee mugs and digs some biscuits I didn't know were there out of a cupboard. He perches his huge body on one of the high chairs by the counter and pats another.

"Sit down, the coffee won't be a minute. So, what have you been doing with yourself? Work or school? You're still in college or what?"

I sigh, exasperated, I'm just not sophisticated enough to know how to verbally put this man in his rightful place, and I don't have any Rosalie Hale-vodoo to pull, so I'm afraid to physically assault him. I meekly sit down and tell him the abridged version of my life: college drop-out, came to California to find myself, ended up as a temporary beach bum and was rescued by Bella Swan, now I work in a café while I decide what to do with my life.

"Hey man, you should go into the construction business, there's lots of work for a guy who's good with his hands and has a head for math, I could totally take you on as an apprentice if you decide you want to try something else besides serving coffee."

I look at him, doubtful, while he pours the coffee, adds milk and then devours two or three biscuits in one swallow.

"No offense, but why would you do that, you don't know me?" I ask, carefully, while I sip my coffee. Mmm, it's good, maybe Emmett should be the one learning barista skills from Carmen?

Emmett guffaws and slaps my shoulder gently, which almost makes me fall off my stool.

"Hey, Edward, I've got people skills, you know! I knew as soon as I saw you that you're a good sort. You were practically foaming at the mouth, getting ready to pounce on me when you didn't like the way I was treating the ladies the first time I came here, right? Even though you knew it would have been like running into a brick wall, right?"

He flexes his biceps, which is admittedly huge and then looks apologetic.

"No offense, Edward, but I work out, I could probably knock you out with a hand tied behind me. But still, you were polite enough to wait for Rosalie to give you the go ahead before you broke up the party, because you were just the house guest. You were being a gentleman Edward. Smart. And showing some guts too. That's all you could ask from a man if you ask me, unless you want to start talking about what's needed in the bedroom, but I think that's another conversation."

I almost choke on my coffee at that comment, and Emmett fucking winks at me again and chuckles.

"So, speaking of the bedroom, I was wondering if you might tell me something about the wonderful Ms Hale. Is she spoken for, as far as you know?"

I watch him, wary. Okay, so this is what he really wants from me, information about Rosalie. I feel smug, because I really don't have much to give.

"Sorry, I don't think I can help you there. I've only met Rosalie Hale once, and she is really Bella's friend, not mine. I know she is a kick-ass lawyer and works hard, and I don't think she is married or has kids, but that's the extent of my knowledge I'm afraid."

Emmett sighs, drains his coffee mug and stands up to put it in the sink.

"That's just too bad, Edward, because I was really hoping for some insider's tips here. See, that's the woman I'm going to marry, and it would be good to know if I have to break up her marriage first or if she's ready and waiting for me."

He rubs his big hands together and grins at me.

"Still, a woman who drives a red Porsche couldn't object to having a sea of red roses delivered to her office, or what do you say?"

I stand up, dragging my hands through my hair and really beginning to long for my shower, as I reply:

"I don't know what her taste in flowers is, but I know she probably has a shitload of lawyers trying to wine and dine her and throwing roses and diamonds at her to dazzle her already, so maybe you shouldn't try to compete with them, maybe you should just use your own tools, you know, be yourself or whatever?"

I look up to see Emmett staring at me in amazement, before breaking into a big belly-laugh.

"Use my own tools, Edward?! Hey, that's rich! I have to remember that one."

He gives me another friendly punch on the shoulder that makes me wince and grab the sore spot instinctively. His face turns more serious as he says:

"I think you're onto something there, though, Edward my man. Maybe she's had just about as many dozens of red roses as a woman can take by now and is ready for something different? Hey, you know, you're my personal Yoda, man. Keep the wisdom flowing…and don't eat any more of that green yuck.." he whispers, wiggling his eyebrows at me.

I have no idea what he's talking about, but I smile, relieved that he seems to be leaving. My bladder is killing me and I am sure I stink. As soon as I've waved him off and heard him start torturing some other guy into work outside, I escape to the guest bathroom.

I let the hot water wash away the weirdness of the past half hour and the lingering discomfort of my dream. Defying my stepmom and stepdad never felt as satisfying as I thought it would, though I kept coming back for more for a longer time than what was really smart. I think what stung most was the discovery that they didn't think I was cool or dangerous or a bad-ass, they just despised my stupidity. Which, looking back, I do too. I just couldn't see it at the time.

Since I know that I'm alone in the house, and the bathroom door is locked, I decide to indulge in a little self-love to get rid of the remaining tension, and with a twinge of guilt I turn my thoughts to one of my favourite fantasies lately: high school teacher Bella. In my little fantasy, Miss Swan is keeping me after class for failing English, dressed in a narrow black pencil skirt, black heels and a white men's shirt that is unbuttoned enough so that I can see her cleavage in a black lacy see-through bra. Since I am at first unrepentant, I end up bent over her desk with my pants and boxer briefs around my ankles getting spanked, which makes me impossibly horny and much more compliant with Miss Swan's wishes. I usually come as I imagine myself pushed down on my back on the hard floor while Miss Swan rubs her cleavage in my face and guides me into her amazing wet pussy…ooohhh fuck yes!

I shiver as I milk the remaining cum from my slowly deflating cock (that uncooperative little fucker can't seem to grasp the fact that real Bella is not about to turn up and is therefore reluctant to bow down yet) and lean my head against the wall, closing my eyes under the spray of warm water.

I am amazed and a bit uncomfortable at how my sex drive seems to have increased in the past few weeks, but I try to tell myself that all this masturbating and having fantasies about my landlady is really harmless and healthy. She is attractive but out-of-bounds, I am young and impressionable and need to let off steam to avoid embarrassing her and myself by getting excited at inappropriate times.

Problem is, though, that the more I imagine Bella in sexual situations, the more I see how sexy she really is, and the more stressed-out I feel imagining her being stalked or approached by some perv when she's out on her own, some horny fuck, eager to get his dirty hands on her without understanding how sensitive she really is.

As I towel myself off and start shaving, I scowl at myself in the mirror. That's why I would really have preferred to accompany her today, to act as a sort of body guard in case she got into some situation where other people made her uncomfortable. I feel cold remembering her panic attack on the floor, and I can't bear the thought that this would happen to her when she's alone somewhere. Okay, so I'm a certified monster, but better the devil you know…I give myself a humourless smile.

I'm dressed and eating some sort of brunch when there's a knock on the door again, and Emmett checks in with me briefly to let me know that they're done for the day.

"We've cleared away most of our stuff, but you shouldn't use the deck until tomorrow afternoon to get the oil we've used time to soak in. I'll be back on Monday to put down some finishing touches, and you shouldn't use the grill until I've given you the go-ahead, alright?"

Emmett steps up and gives me a one-armed man hug before grinning and patting my back in goodbye.

"If I don't see you Monday, it's been good to meet you, and I hope I'll get the chance to come here and show you how to grill a real steak sometime. Take care of yourself Edward and tell Bella I'll talk to her on Monday!"

There's a lot more noise in the street before they finally take off, but then there's blessed silence, and I set about seeing what I can do around the house before Bella comes home. It seems she spends some of her time at home during the day cleaning, because the house is pretty clean, so I just vacuum my room, change my sheets and clean the guest bathroom for good measure. I look through the kitchen to see if we need anything from the store, and then decide to go look for a place to get myself a phone.

I haven't really missed my cell in all this time, because I longed to disappear, to make myself invisible, unconnected with anyone or anything, but now that I've found myself pulled into the human world again, I feel the need. If I have a phone I can call Bella during the day, and more importantly, if anything happens, she can call me.

I've talked to Carmen and I know where I need to go to find a bus that will take me to the nearest mall. Living with almost nothing for a while has made me aware of all the things I used to take for granted: not just the obvious things like food, warmth, a place to sleep, keeping clean, but how helpless you are without an address, an identity, transportation.

Poor people don't have cars, can't afford the gas, poor people live a long way from their jobs, from stores where they can buy better and cheaper food, from the offices of authorities they need to visit to get help or documentation. Having no money means you spend a lot of time walking or doing basic stuff like getting to a place where you can get a meal, getting to a shelter, getting to a place where you can get a pair of trousers or the chance to take a shower. Time is all you've got, and yet you never have enough time.

I have learnt to appreciate people's simple kindness too, because it's normally so rare. I've tried hitch hiking, menial jobs, helping people unload junk at the city dump, going through garbage cans, begging, stealing, everything I could think of. In all of that time what I remember are the small things, a tired woman handing out food in a soup kitchen who took the time to smile and ask if I needed a sweater, a girl who put a dollar in my paper cup, gave me a piece of gum and asked me how I was, a truck driver who let me ride with him a whole night and kept telling me stories about his kids. They amazed me.

The hard seats on the bus feel cold, then hot, and the summer sun through the window scorch my face like a search light. I watch people getting on and off idly, wondering about their lives: people on their way to school or work, people in office clothes, in hoods and jeans, old people, young people. I wonder what they see when they look at me. I hope they see someone ordinary, not worth remembering, just another face. Most of my life I've felt a strange mix of either too visible or too invisible, and right now, my desire is to be completely invisible.

The mall is pretty filled with people although it's in the middle of the day and I marvel wondering if none of them have jobs? A pretty blonde is advertising the latest cell phones at a table in the middle of the walking area, and she gives me an inviting smile, but I avoid her and go looking for the nearest Radio Shack. A tired middle-aged guy who looks as if he would rather be someplace else gets me the cheapest pre-paid phone, no frills, and takes my cash without a second glance. I now have a phone number and have officially joined the human race.

I have no reason to linger at the mall, but when I find myself outside again, the glaring sun reminds me of one other purchase I need to make, and I return briefly inside for a cheap pair of shades. Catching a glimpse of myself in a mirror I notice that my hair is beyond awful and I remember that Carmen actually offered to cut it for me. I might just take her up on that.

There is a longish wait before the bus back arrives, and some way to walk from the bus stop, but since it's not yet four o'clock I decide to make a detour by the café to let Kate know she can reach me at my cell if she needs to change the schedule on short notice. As I'm walking down the street I see the front of Ink it Black again, and just on impulse, I duck inside. It's dark in there compared to the sunny afternoon outside, and I wonder idly if all bar keepers paint the insides of their bars black with no windows just to be able to keep the cleaning to a minimum?

Since it's Friday afternoon the place already has some customers, and Maryann is behind the counter laughing at something while she is serving up beers to the guys standing at the bar. She acknowledges me with a raised eyebrow when I walk up to the bar, and I give her a small smile. We haven't really met, but she looks like an okay kind of girl. Fierce, but okay, she reminds me of Carmen a little bit, although I would guess that Maryann is younger, maybe in her mid-twenties or something?

Today she is wearing a black tank top with a red dragon print and her dark eyes are outlined with pencil and smoky eye shadow while her lips are pale, her black hair swinging around her face, shiny and straight. She is petite but with toned arms and moves fluently back and forth, wiping down some beer she spilled, juggling glasses, reaching out for a bottle to pour shots.

My eyes wander over to the back of the room where I see Tony moving a piano around on the small stage to find the best position. This intrigues me, so I idly walk down the length of the bar to check it out. As I come closer, Tony looks up, wipes his brow and smiles at me, and I see he is dressed in a dusty and worn pair of jeans and a t-shirt that looks as if it needs to go in the wash soon.

"Hey, Edward. Are you off from work early? What do you think of this beauty? Something you'd like to get your hands on?"

He pats the black, glossy surface of the piano, which is smaller than a grand piano, but bigger than the basic kind of instrument you'd expect to find in a bar. He leans on it with both arms folded under his chin and smirks up at me over the expanse of decorated biceps. I'm not sure if I should smile or scowl at him, since I don't know how I feel about him or if he's challenging me or just making conversation. I shrug and make a non-committal sound.

He straightens up again and runs his hand over the lid.

"I have a friend who let me have this for a really good price since he's been buying them in bulk and selling them to music schools, churches, bars, you name it. It's digital but he says it sounds just as good as a regular piano, plus you can make it sound like pretty much anything you want. I don't play myself, do you?"

He looks at me again and smiles, the lazy smile of a well-fed animal, which looks both inviting and vaguely repulsive on his darkly handsome face. I shrug again, but feel that this calls for a response.

"Yeah, I play some. But I don't think a digital piano could ever match a regular one, at least not a good one. They feel flat compared to the real thing."

Tony walks over to the side and picks up a chair from a stack at the wall of the bar, then sets it down in front of the piano keys and gestures me over.

"Please, try it out then, I would really like your opinion. If this turns out to be a crappy deal, I can still return it."

He folds his arms and raises his eyebrows at me, and even though I am a bit uncomfortable at the thought of letting other people hear me play, I am kind of tempted too. It's been a while since I had the opportunity to touch a piano, and playing always used to relax me. It's one of the few things I really miss now.

I shrug and sit nonchalantly, pulling the chair away and lifting the lid to turn the piano on. I try to figure out what means what and press the keys a couple of times to feel it out, and see what kind of sound I get, but it's fairly obvious after a minute or so, so I launch into a tentative version of Heart and Soul just to warm up a little.

After a while I forget where I am, and don't pay any attention to Tony or any of the people in the bar, as I go from one song to the next, Bridge over troubled water, Hey Jude, Undertow, Fix you…which earns a couple of whoops and attempts to sing along from the bar...and end up trying to remember Clair de lune. The sound wraps around me, my fingers move of their own accord and I feel electrified, humming quietly like a car engine, completely focused and completely at ease. I remember the first time…

_I wake up in the dark, and I am whimpering to myself. There's a peach coloured night light on the wall by the door, and I can hear sounds coming from downstairs. Music, tinkling, sweet, drawing me. I feel my heart thumping in my chest as I clumsily slide out from under the blankets and feel my feet hit the floor with a dull thudding sound. The floor is covered in carpet, and feels soft under my naked soles, but I run quickly to escape whatever horrible thing lives under my bed in the blackness there, fumbling with the door knob before I am finally released into the relative safety of the hall. _

_Blindly, I run towards the stairs, but I stop abruptly at the top, remembering Mesme telling me to be careful on the stairs, to walk slowly and hold on to the handrail. I want to be good, so I do as I've been told, biting my lip and blowing at the long strands of damp hair falling down across my forehead into my eyes. I don't like it when they cut my hair, and it's been a long time now. I know Mesme wants to cut it. I feel a lump in my throat when I think that maybe Mesme won't want to keep me with her if I keep disobeying her, and I resolve to be a good boy like she says, and let her cut my hair. _

_When I reach the bottom of the stairs I run quickly toward the living room where the music is. The light pouring out into the hallway is warm, golden, beautiful, and the room is like a wonderful big cave filled with warmth and light and sound. I see Mesme sitting in front of the big black piano, making that tinkling, high and low, sweet sound with her hands, and I run to her and put my arms around her waist, giving a sob of relief._

"_Edward!" Her hands drop abruptly into her lap, and the sound stops. "What's wrong sweetheart? Are you feeling unwell?" _

_She turns around on the piano chair and pulls me into her lap. I burrow my head into her dress and smell her. She smells so good. Her hand in my hair and her arms around me make me feel safe again. _

"_Edward, what's wrong?" she says again._

_I rub my face with my hands and take a deep breath before I blurt out: _

"_You can cut my hair if you want to, I don't mind. I'll be good, I promise. Please don't send me away."_

_Mesme's arms tighten around me and she shushes me. _

"_Sshh, Edward, don't worry darling boy. I would never, ever send you away. And if you want to wait a while before we cut your hair that's alright too. It's just that I don't get to see your beautiful eyes anymore, you know? I miss them."_

_I can feel her smiling against my hair, and I look up at her with tired, damp eyes. She is very beautiful. She kind of looks like Mommy, but she is almost even more beautiful. I feel guilty when I think this. Thinking about Mommy makes my stomach twist in a weird way. Maybe I am sick after all. Mommy said that I made her sick sometimes, maybe I make myself sick too?_

"_Mesme, why did Mommy leave? Did I make her sick? Was it because I was bad?"_

_My voice is very small in the big room, and I feel small, yet I wish suddenly that I could shrink even more, become small as a mouse, disappear under the sofa or behind the heavy curtains. _

_Now Mesme looks troubled, but she holds my gaze, and keeps my face still between her warm hands, as if she wants to make sure that I am listening to her. _

"_Edward, listen to me, you never did anything bad to make your Mommy sick or angry or disappointed or anything. Mommy loved you, and Mommy didn't want to leave you. But I told you that Mommy was in an accident, and she got very sick, and then she died and became an angel in heaven instead. I am sure that Mommy thinks of you every day in heaven, and wishes she didn't have to leave you, Edward. I am sure that Mommy still loves you. And I love you. Carlisle loves you too, we both do. And we want you to stay with us forever, as long as you want to. Do you understand, Edward?"_

_I nod slowly, and Mesme lets go of my face and hugs me tight to her chest again. I squirm a little and touch the piano and it tinkles. I wriggle around so I can see it better._

"_Do you like the sound of the piano, Edward?" Mesme asks me. _

_I nod again, more vigorously. _

"_Do you want to play it?" _

_I look at her and I feel a grin begin to form across my face. Yes, I do want to play it._

_Mesme moves us around so that I am sitting on her lap in front of the piano, and she moves my hands across the black and white keys, making me press first one and then another. She puts her fingers on my fingers and guides me back and forth, and haltingly we begin to make music, a funny, stunted, jumping melody. I smile and smile, and I feel something radiating out from my heart into my whole body, making it tingle in time with the tinkling sound. I love this. I love music. I love Mesme. And she says she loves me._

When I look up, Tony is gone, but Maryann has approached and is leaning against the piano, watching me, with a small smile playing on her lips. The bar is filling up slowly, and suddenly I feel embarrassed sitting there in plain view. I run my hands through my hair, shut the piano down and stand up.

"I need to get going now, thanks for letting me use your piano." I say to Maryann, who is still looking at me, kind of intense.

"No problemo, Edward," is her reply. "Time for a quick drink before you go? It's on the house."

I shake my head. I really need to get home, because I want to be there when Bella gets home. My time with her feels kind of precious, and I don't want to miss out.

"No thanks, not right now. Maybe some other time?" I look over at the bar, where I see Tony looking over and waving at me, now changed into a clean, dark blue shirt with sleeves rolled up.

I look down when I feel Maryann's hand on my arm. Her face is close to me and she looks serious.

"You play really well, Edward. You should come over and play for us again sometime. Or come over when we're closed to business, just to practice if you like? It would be great."

I must have made some kind of face, because she leans in and gives me a quick peck on the cheek before tugging playfully at my shirt.

"Don't look so bashful: you know you're good, man. We need to hear more of that shit, and that's final."

She looks at me, smiling over her shoulder as she walks over to the bar and ducks under to help Tony take orders.

When I walk towards the exit, Tony gestures me over for a word.

"So what is the verdict, maestro? Is the piano to your liking? Will you play it again sometime?" His words are playful, but I think his face looks serious, so I answer in kind.

"It's better than I thought, I mean the sound is good, it's just the keys that don't respond exactly the same way as a real piano would. But it's good. Definitely more than okay – and I guess it's better for this kind of environment too, more flexible."

Tony smiles at me, and this time there's a genuine warmth in his dark blue eyes. "Good to know. Seriously, you have to come back and play another time. Are you dropping in for a drink later?"

"No, I have other plans. But maybe some other time?" I make sure I have my bag with me before I stick my hands deep into my jeans pockets and start walking backwards for the door.

Tony raises his hand in a good bye-gesture, then stops himself and calls out to me.

"Do you think you will be seeing Bella any time soon?"

I frown but nod, because that should be obvious, hey, we actually live together, don't you know?

"Tell her that I'm on to her. I know that the one she picked isn't her favourite. Just tell her that and say hi from me, please?"

Tony turns around and starts taking orders before I have time to ask him what the fuck he meant by this. "The one she picked isn't her favourite?" What the hell is that supposed to mean? I guess I will just have to ask Bella and see if she gets it or if he's just messing with me.

When I step out onto the street the light has changed, and the late afternoon is turning towards evening as I walk towards the beach, feeling a breeze picking up with a twinge of the ocean in it. People are moving in and out of the shops and cafés, meeting up with friends for a quick drink, having a coffee, shopping for groceries, it's all normal and slightly festive, as if many of them are looking forward to the weekend. I wonder if I'll be doing anything with Bella tomorrow, when, as far as I know, we are both free? The idea of a day spent with Bella makes me smile, and my feet walk faster.

As I pass by the café I drop in to see Kate, but I take a couple of minutes to chat with Charlotte too, who looks tired, but still lights up when I come in.

"Hey Edward, you just can't keep away, can you? Dropping in on your day off – are you a dedicated worker or what?" she jokes with me, as she wipes down the counter from coffee spill. I smile and shrug.

"I just wanted to talk to Kate for a minute. Is she in?" Charlotte nods.

"So how was your day without me? Miss me much?" I smirk, and Charlotte snorts. Before long, Kate comes out and joins our bantering. When I tell her I have a new phone number I want her to have she raises her eyebrows at me.

"So, Edward Masen, the elusive recluse, finally decided to join the twentyfirst century? About time, I say. Now I can finally wake you up at 5 to ask you to take the early shift when I feel hung over." She smiles sarcastically at me and I shake my head and scowl.

"That would be a horrible abuse of your power as my boss, and I vehemently protest. If you start drunk calling me, I'll sue you for harassment in the work place and before you know it _I_ will be the proud owner of this fine establishment while _you_ will be out on your sorry ass."

Kate shakes her head, and complies with my wishes, punching my number into her cell phone and then calling me to make sure I get her number too.

"Fine, Edward, suit yourself, I can hear you are all ready to go to law school and quit the restaurant business right now. But please remember when you are a hot shot lawyer suing celebrities all over L.A. that this is where your budding talents started to make themselves known to the world. Oh, and your mad dishwashing skills, did I mention those?"

I raise my hands in defeat as I put my phone back in my pocket and walk towards the door, followed by pealing laughter. They think they're so funny, oh yeah. Suddenly I feel antsy and I can't wait to see Bella again, so I start jogging down the sidewalk in the direction of Bella's house.

Finally I see it: the Volvo is parked at the side of the house and I feel my heart lift at the sight. She's back.

* * *

**A/N: Would you be able to get by without a cell phone? Do you want to hear Edward play the piano again? And do you think Emmett will **_**really **_**marry Rosalie? Tell me what you think if you have time…**

**Another rec: The talented lola-pops is finishing up her fic We Were Here. Bella is a good girl, Edward is a boy who breaks the law painting graffiti, they pull and push at each other, and I just love the way they're written. Go check it out if you haven't seen it!**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Disclaimer - I don't have a beta, so all the mistakes are mine. Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. Thank you for reading! I promise to answer all reviews as long as you log in first so I can find you…**

* * *

_Remember those walls I built? _

_Well, baby they're tumbling down_

_And they didn't even put up a fight, _

_they didn't even make a sound._

_I found a way to let you in, _

_but I never really had a doubt_

_Standing in the light of your halo, _

_oh, I've gotten my angel now._

_It's like I've been awakened, _

_every rule I had you're breaking,_

_It's the risk that I'm taking, _

_I'm never gonna shut you out._

_Everywhere I'm looking now, _

_I'm surrounded by your embrace_

_Baby, I can see your halo, _

_I know you're my saving grace_

_You're everything I need and more, _

_it's written all over your face_

_Baby I can feel your halo, pray it won't fade away_

_I can see your halo, I can feel your halo.._

_Hit me like a ray of sun, _

_burning through my darkest night_

_You're the only one that I want, _

_think I'm addicted to your light_

_I swore I'd never fall again, _

_but this don't even feel like falling_

_Gravity can't forget, so pull me back to the ground again_

_Feels like I've been awakened.._

Beyoncé: Halo.

* * *

**Chapter 18.**

**BPOV**

As I drive back through the gathering afternoon traffic, all I can think is that it's been a weird day. I got up early to get out of the house before the workers showed up, taking care to go quietly in case Edward decided to sleep in on his day off. Firing up my computer to check the weather forecast I then found a disturbing e-mail on my work mail, that I still check from time to time, from one of my oldest friends at Berkeley who also happens to be head of the department I'm on leave from, asking me for my new number and to call her up soon, which alerted me to the fact that I have to decide when I'm going back to San Francisco. Do I feel ready? I don't know.

Then, going in to the city I always take more care of my appearance, foregoing my usual jeans-and-hood-with-Chucks-look to wear proper shoes, slacks and a blouse and some jewelry. Sunglasses is a given, I would feel naked without them. I normally take a loose sweater or my jacket, just in case I start feeling exposed, but camouflage aside, today I didn't think I would really need it, the day looked nice, and I was planning to spend most of it indoors anyway.

Meeting up with my editor was a bit nerve-wracking. I mostly communicate with her by e-mail and phone, and her office is somewhat hard to access, situated in a very urban part of the city not made for curb parking. She made arrangements to let me park my Volvo in the garage under their building, which made me feel a little bit like a movie star, being ushered in and then shown the elevator by a sort of valet.

The building was a high-rise, filled with offices of different types of advertising firms and publishing agencies, and I had to concentrate hard not to lose it when I was jostled in an elevator brimming with people all eager to get to their morning meetings on time. Fortunately, everyone was focused in on themselves or their Iphones and no one seemed to take much notice of anyone else, including me, and I did my deep-breathing exercises for good measure.

My meeting with Eve went well, she is brisk and enthusiastic, a very pretty redhead in her late thirties, small of stature but with a flair for high heels and vibrant colours that seems a little at odds with the rest of the people in her office. But maybe she fills the required spot for a bohemian chic and more exotic addition to the sophisticated (drab) and subdued (boring) browns and grays that her fellow workers seem to prefer, and that's why she gets to deal with a strange academic writer from Berkeley like myself?

She seems to sense my unease and fear of selling out, and took some time assuring me that my talents and credibility will not be diminished by making my subject more accessible to the general public. I agreed to ask one of my colleagues at Berkeley, who already had a - sort of - smash hit a couple of years ago writing a book on California women pioneers in fiction, to write an introduction to my book, stressing it's "controversial yet mainstream brilliance." Whatever. The most awkward part of my visit was when she insisted on introducing me to some of her colleagues, and kept gushing on about my merits as a writer, while I squirmed under their gazes and wished myself away.

Rose had time for a quick lunch, and this time we sat outside in the sun, although shadowed by an umbrella, since women like us can't afford to have the sun actually wreak havoc on our skin, and had lunch on the patio of another expensive and popular restaurant in North Hollywood that Rose of course knows about.

When I looked around I got a very Hollywood-kind of vibe, people were either ridiculously over-dressed or carefully casual in designer dress-me-downs-like-I-don't-care, and all wore sunglasses as big as dessert plates. Rose wore a new pair of Gucci sunglasses too, while I stuck to my trusty Ray-Bans.

I picked at my "health plate"-salad, while Rose talked about Emmett McCarthy without wanting to seem as if she cared about Emmett McCarthy – a dead give-away telling me that Rose was seriously smitten with this mountain of a man. She airily suggested that she'd talk to him today and that he might enjoy coming over on Sunday to baptize the new outdoor grill with a barbecue party, and I made non-committal noises, not sure how I felt about having him run through my home like a mini-herd of rhinoceros again. But anything for Rose, since I already owe her too much.

The most awkward part of lunch was when Rose took off her gigantic sun glasses to lean forward and pierce me with her blue eyes, asking:

"So, are you fucking Edward yet?"

I sputtered water all over my plate, feeling my face reddening with a combination of shock, lack of oxygen and pure embarrassment. Once my coughing fit was over I wiped my face with my linen napkin and glared at her.

"Rose, please, stop it. First, that is absolutely none of your business. Second, I don't see Edward going to bed with me even if we were to live in the same house for a hundred years, unless it was a pity-fuck, and I really, really don't want that. Third, I have already told you _when_ I am ready to date again, I will look for someone likely and not pounce on the first handsome boy who comes my way. Give me some credit, please."

I feel guilty all the same, remembering my very physical reaction to the vision last night of his t-shirt riding up when he stretched out in his chair. A six-pack, smooth skin with a sparse sprinkling of hair trailing down towards the promised land and the deep v-sign of his hip bones made me feel like my inside just turned to lava cake. Indecent, and enticing at the same time.

Rose just looked at me thoughtfully.

"It's just, now that I've met him, he seems really very…fuckable. And it's clear from the way he looks at you that the poor guy has it bad for you. I'm just saying, why not put him out of his misery? It's not as if he's brazen enough to bring any dates home to your house, he seems too polite. And it's been weeks. He must be pretty horny by now, unless he's fucking some co-worker at the café. Are there any pretty girls working there, do you know?"

Rose has a clinical mind, which I could see working behind that smooth brow, while I felt flustered, disturbed and frankly jealous, thinking about Amy, and, well, Charlotte, Kate and Carmen are all older than Edward, but not that much older, my age or probably significantly younger, and they are all good-looking, each in their way.

"Rose, just drop it. Focus on how you're going to rope in Emmett instead and leave my love life alone."

That's really all it took to put Rose's mind back on its´ earlier track, and we parted ways amiably enough, after Rose forced a lot of stuff on me that she kept in the trunk of her car. I gritted my teeth, but I learned long ago that it's impossible to refuse Rose's gifts, so I meekly thanked her, kissed her and said goodbye.

After that ordeal, landing in Dr Banner's office for my afternoon appointment was frankly a relief. Her cool, pleasant persona and her quiet office always help me unwind and focus, and even if the times I have spent there have been painful, I have always felt that she helped me contain the pain.

I told her about my week, and about how I felt troubled about my panic attack, brushing over the fact of the kiss, since I felt embarrassed I had let things get out of hand like that, putting Edward in an awkward position. But Dr Banner, always attentive to details, brought me back again.

"Bella, you are saying that you were pleasantly surprised that you had a good time going out with Edward, except of course when you felt cornered in that bar, but then you experienced a violent reaction when he got physically close to you back at the house. You have told me before that Edward made you feel safe living in your house. Did you feel threatened by him this time?"

I hesitated, confused. Did I feel threatened? It wasn't like that drunk at the bar, hovering above me, not at all. After all, this was Edward. Did I think he wouldn't stop? That he would molest me? Hurt me? No. Not on an intellectual level, but not on a gut level either. I try to remember what I felt before everything crashed down around me. I was tired, sensitive, on edge when we came home. I was feeling needy, and I wanted a hug, but didn't know how to ask for one. Then Edward came to me and put his arms around me, and that felt good. Really good. It made it easier to breathe, I felt warm, cherished. I enjoyed the physical closeness, it didn't freak me out. When he started pecking me, touching my face with his lips, I was surprised, confused, but not afraid.

Then everything happened so fast. He kissed me, and I think I kissed him back, there was a surge of arousal but then just as quickly there was this tidal wave of raw emotion, and the emotion was…panic and disgust. Disgust with myself. And a petrifying fear of having him so close to me. Fear that he would be disgusted too. It was all those other times crashing down on me, being judged by others, found lacking, inferior, not good enough, not deserving. A feeling of shame, deep in my bones, and all that goes with it, anger, despair, sadness. I can't be with you. I can't be with anyone. I don't deserve it. I can't. Can't.

I sat with my head between my hands, slowly trying to figure it out, trying to think what to say. Finally I told Dr Banner the short version, the one I felt we could both handle.

"I think it wasn't so much Edward, or the fact that he got close to me. I think it was the accumulated stress of the evening, and getting flashbacks from my relationship with James. I guess what it means is that I'm not ready for a real relationship with a man yet if I freak out like that?"

Dr Banner looked at me impassively, waiting, before she said:

"But what did you feel in that moment, Bella? Do you remember what went through your head?"

I bit my lip, looking down, and then I mumbled: "This doesn't make sense, but I felt that I don't deserve this. And, I guess, by extension, that neither does Edward."

"What do you mean by that, Bella?" Dr Banner's voice is always gentle, but she doesn't relent. She could feel the twitching of a nerve, I'm sure.

I sighed, frustrated and sat back in my chair, toying with my hair and looking at the shadows on the ceiling.

"It doesn't make any sense, but I felt that I don't deserve to be with anyone yet, and that consequently Edward deserves better than to get stuck in the middle of all this crap. It's not rational, I know, and I can't explain it."

"Do you recognize these feelings? Do you remember having them before?"

I turned my head then, squeezing my eyes into slits looking at the bright sun outside the window, feeling tears start to pool, but determined to keep them at bay. Oh, I remember many times.

The times when I went to bed hungry because Renee forgot to buy any food and the cash flow was low, and then the times when we had money and food in the house, but she suggested that it would be better for me to diet, that this would make me more popular with the other children at school. I remember the fear and the shame of sticking out like a sore thumb, walking down the noisy hallways, waiting for someone to attack me.

I remember sitting in a spotless kitchen staring out the window with these feeling beating through me like a relentless tidal wave, I remember making sure James' dinner was ready on time, but feeling like my mouth was full of sand and I couldn't eat a bite, I remember lying curled up on a bed alone in the darkness, feeling as if it would have been better if I had never been born. Oh, I remember.

"Yes." I said. "In different times of my life, when I was feeling low for different reasons."

"So, Bella, if you try to look at yourself from the outside, do you think that it's true that you don't deserve to be with anyone yet?" Dr Banner was serious, but there was still the hint of a smile on her face, encouraging me.

I sighed and smiled ruefully. "No, of course not. I may not be emotionally in top form, and therefore not ready to embark on a relationship, but it has nothing to do with deserving or not deserving something. Everyone deserves to be happy, if they can."

"Will you say it for me, Bella? Say it out loud?"

I looked at her, and this is where my appointment with Dr Banner also became awkward, because suddenly I felt my body break out in a cold sweat, when I understood what she meant. So easy, why should it feel so hard to just _say the words_? I swallowed, and felt my heart beat hard under my silk blouse. Dr Banner waited, patiently, until I drew a deep breath and forced the words out.

"I…I believe I deserve to be happy." My voice was small in the large room, but I heard the words and so did Dr Banner. She nodded, satisfied, as if saying the words made it true.

I frown at the other cars on the road, inadvertently getting a shocked look from a woman in an adjoining car when we stop side by side and she catches my scowling face "what did I do?". But I'm too preoccupied to do anything but turn my face the other way, deep in thought.

Do I deserve to be happy? If everyone does, why not me? Would a relationship make me happy? Do I want a relationship with Edward? I waver between "Hell, yeah!" and "Maybe." The "hell yeah"-part is based on the fact of my very strong physical attraction to the guy, and how gentle and fun he is to be around. The "maybe"-part is based on the possibility that because we are so different this may all backfire, and then we're living in the same house, and that is not only awkward, but excruciating, if he dumps me and stomps all over the ruins of my self-esteem. I don't know if I can take that again.

_I'm walking along the Lake with James. It's a windy Sunday, but spring is in the air and he asked me to take a walk with him in the sun. My hair is whipping around, hitting me in the face, smearing my carefully applied lip gloss, and I keep pulling it away. As always, I feel a bit nervous when James takes me out on these pre-meditated dates, unsure of how to live up to his expectations. Did I dress right? _

_It's a far cry from how confident I've begun to feel about my work. I am working on my Master degree in English and moving along fast: at this rate I'll be ready next spring, and then I think I want to try for a PhD. I have discovered that I enjoy teaching, and have had a lot of fun with the freshman classes. I love it every time someone gets a new light in their eyes and starts reading an old book for fun, because it captures the imagination._

"_Bella, I've been thinking." James is looking preoccupied, and I hope that this doesn't mean there's bad news. He turns to me. _

"_I think it's time we got married."_

_My heart stutters in my chest and I feel cold. This was not something I expected, not today, not like this._

"_Married? Now?"_

_James smiles, but his eyes are impatient. He admires my intelligence and I've heard him brag about my progress to friends, but sometimes I know he sees me as slow, when I'm not immediately on the same page with him in his plans and in his thinking._

"_We've talked about this before, Bella. We're together, and we've been dating for- what now? – more than a year, we love each other and we're beginning to make plans for the future. At least I am. If I get transferred, which might happen, I want you to come with me. If you get a job at some other university I still want us to be together. Moving across the country means a big commitment, and it would be easier if we were a married couple. Why not get married now?" _

_He puts his arm around my shoulder, drawing me to him, briefly nuzzling my hair, and as always his gesture makes me feel cherished - and I'm still sort of amazed to be walking here with this beautiful, successful man. I feel like a kid with him sometimes, although he's only five years older._

"_But, are you sure? I mean, you're right, there's never been anyone else for me, and getting married seems natural when you love one another and plan to stay together, but still…it's such a big step." I worry my lip. "Marriage means…forever."_

_James snorts and looks down at me, amused._

"_Well, theoretically, yes, but hardly in actual fact, with the divorce rate in this country." He stops and puts his arms around me, pulling me close to his body, whispering in my ear:_

"_Sorry, that's not what I meant to say. I wanted this moment to be romantic. You know I love you, Bella. I want to make you mine forever. Isn't that what you want too?"_

_I close my eyes, breathing him in, expensive cologne and burnt leather. Isn't this what I want? To belong with James forever, to have my own family? Yes, and still it seems..too soon. But I have no actual arguments why we shouldn't get married. So I nod against his chest, whispering back:_

"_Yes, I do."_

_Suddenly he lets go of me and gets down on one knee right there on the foot path, and there's a Tiffany box in his hand. He flips the lid open and shows me a diamond ring, a square cut beautiful diamond with a platinum band, simple in design, but way too big for my liking._

"_So, Isabella, will you please marry me and stay with me forever?"_

_I feel as if I might weep, conflicting emotions flitting through my body: shock, joy, fear, unreality. This is it, I am getting married. Me. I'm getting _married_. I can't believe it._

"_Yes. I will marry you James. Yes, I'll stay with you forever." My voice is small and a tear slips down my cheek, but it's a tear of joy. I'm home. This man is my home now._

_James smiles up at me, a dazzling smile, as he slips the ring on my left hand and stands up to pull me into a deep kiss. My head spins, and I clutch onto his jacket for dear life. Forever._

I shake my head, troubled at how naïve I once was. "Forever" with James wasn't as long as I thought it would be. So, what if I decided to suggest a relationship, and what if Edward said yes? I immediately cringe at the thought of him touching me, kissing me, seeing me naked. No! That's impossible. I could never bear to see the look of revulsion on his face when he sees me. He's beautiful and compared to him I am ugly. The two just don't match. I see my knuckles whiten as I clutch the steering wheel too tightly.

But maybe Rose is right, maybe Edward is feeling needy too? Maybe he's not opposed to the idea of slumming it? After all, it's not as if we're connected at the hip: if worst comes to worst, he could probably get some help from Kate to find a place to crash to get away from me. Edward is personable and makes friends easily, I saw it when we were out together, and hell, he even seems to have won Rose over.

I might end up alone, licking my wounds, but I wouldn't really be any worse off than I was before. And San Francisco beckons in the fall. If Edward recoils from me, that's just one more name on the "We hate Bella-list". I still have friends, colleagues and people up north who believe in me. I'm a big girl, I can take rejection. Sex has never been that important for me, anyway.

By now, I've bolstered myself up emotionally, even if I realize I don't make much sense even to myself. I am going to try to have a relationship with Edward in spite of the fact that: a) I don't think he is really attracted to me, b) I don't think it can work long-term, c) I am afraid to show myself naked to the man, d) Based on my previous experiences I'm not crazy about sex and not much good at it.

Still, I feel better now that I've decided to try something new, namely throw caution out the window and ignore my fears, and as I pull in at the house I feel butterflies fluttering in the bottom of my stomach. I'm going to be brave and try to do something for _me_, even if it's stupid, because that's what people who embrace life do. And I want to count myself among the living.

I am strangely deflated when I discover that Edward's not at the house and I trail around looking in all the rooms just to make sure, even though I feel a bit silly. I even peak into his room, and stop there for a while trailing my fingers across the neatly folded clothes on his dresser.

The guest room barely looks lived in, he's so neat, which I find strange in a young man – I thought all young guys were messy? There's an Amis novel on the stand by his bed, along with a second-hand, battered copy of Shakespeare's sonnets. I smile, wondering where he found it, then quickly bend down and guiltily sniff his pillow just to get a whiff of that incredible Edward-scent before I exit the room, heading for the kitchen to get a bottle of water from the fridge. I'm standing by the open French windows looking out at the re-decorated deck, when I hear his voice at the front door.

"Bella?"

"I'm in here, Edward!"

I call out to him and turn around as he comes into the room, and I can't help smiling when I see him, looking glamorous in a new pair of sunglasses and a thin grey t-shirt that leaves his well-defined arms and chest looking too tempting for words.

I feel myself starting to blush at my thoughts and my courage sinks now that I see him in all his glory. How could this beautiful man possibly want me? He belongs on that patio where I had lunch with Rose, talking to an agent or making a new movie deal with the head of a studio.

"How was your day, Bella? Did everything work out alright with your meetings?"

He takes off his sunglasses, and his smiling green eyes look at me with what I can only think of as affection. He seems almost as pleased to see me as I feel to be back and see him, not cool or indifferent at all.

"Oh, yes, the meeting with the editor went just fine, and then I had lunch with Rosalie, which reminds me – could you help me get some things from the car that I forgot?"

He walks out ahead of me, and I try not to notice how his jeans hang from his hips in a way that makes me think of happy trails and remember that sliver of skin that appears above his running shorts whenever we do our stretching exercises. Oh please. I swallow. God give me strength to behave appropriately.

When I open the booth of the car, it's filled with plastic bags, and I fish one out, thrusting it towards Edward.

"Here, this is a gift to you from Rosalie."

He looks surprised, but accepts the bag and looks inside.

"Trainers? Rosalie bought me trainers?" He looks completely dumbstruck. "Why?"

I shrug and turn to get the other bags out of the car before closing and locking the booth again.

"I told her that we run together, and that you were really good, so then she thought you could use a really good pair of shoes. She said the store told her these were the best type for the sort of running we do."

Edward looks doubtful, but follows me back to the house, where I dump my bags in the hall until later, only lugging the fruit I bought in the market on the way back to the kitchen.

When I look at him, he is unpacking the shoes, but he doesn't look happy.

"Bella, these are really expensive shoes, I don't feel comfortable accepting a gift like this from someone I barely know. And how did Rosalie guess my size?"

I blush, and he smiles at me, a rueful smile. "Oh, I guess you told her, right? So you're in on this?"

I feel stubborn now, so I say firmly:

"Since Rosalie makes a stupid amount of money I think it's pointless to talk to her about buying too expensive gifts. She likes to give me presents too, and I gave up on sulking about it years ago, because it doesn't stop her, and it destroys the pleasure she gets out of it. So just shut up and enjoy it, because it doesn't mean you're indebted to Rose in any way. She does this stuff for herself. It makes her feel good helping others out. And however much she may deny it, it's what makes her tick as a lawyer too. She's a big softie at heart, really."

Edward suddenly throws his head back and laughs, a deep, throaty laugh that sends chills down my spine because it's such a beautiful, happy sound.

"Rosalie Hale, a big softy?"

He wipes his eyes, sitting down and lacing the shoes up.

"Somehow, I have a hard time seeing that picture."

He looks up at me, still smiling.

"I know that she cares about you, though, and I guess that's what makes her give me these shoes, so that I can give you a better run for your money. So, Swan, are we on? I think you should probably change into some other clothes if you're going to be chasing me on the beach in fifteen minutes."

His voice is teasing, but commanding too, and I grab my water bottle with slightly sweaty palms as I head for my bedroom, mumbling:

"Yes, sir, Mr Masen, will do."

He can be such a slave driver. But really nice about it too. I know he could outrun me any time, yet he never leaves me behind, and he always checks on me to see that I'm alright. Once, when I got a cramp in one of my calves, he spend a solid ten minutes massaging it right there on the beach, completely focused, in spite of the tanned beauties dragging their feet walking by. I wanted to die, I just didn't know if it was from embarrassment or from being pumped up on adrenaline from his touch.

I scoop up my bags and leave them by my closet. Rosalie has bought me another pair of ridiculous shoes I know I will barely use: tan suede, three inch heels with a peep-toe. And a dress to go with it, slinky, with a bold pattern in white, golden browns and turquoise, that I'm sure I will never wear because it's sleeveless and probably too tight. But she inspired me to shop for some more clothes for Edward, and now I've got a pair of dark dress pants, a white dress shirt, a silver-green tie and a pair of dress shoes that I decide to hide in my closet for later since he needs to get over the trainers first.

He's waiting for me in the hall, leaning against the wall dressed in shorts and a wife-beater, clutching a water bottle with his arms folded across his chest. He raises his eyebrows at me.

"Ready?"

I smirk at him, and sigh, resigned.

"As ready as I'll ever be," I say, and I know it's true. I will never be truly ready for the sight of Edward, but I will woman up and take it anyway.

As we run, I let the punishing rhythm of the run take over, giving my body over completely to the fatigue and the pain, concentrating hard on getting my breathing right. Suddenly it doesn't matter that I'm old, sweaty, fat and gross. My body works. My body hurts, but I have control over it anyway.

This is _my_ sweat running in rivulets down my back, _my_ breasts bouncing slightly painfully in my tight running bra, _my _legs shooting arrows of fire up to my brain, _my_ lungs screaming protests and aching with the strain of pumping out enough oxygen to keep me moving, _my _heart beating its' way out of my chest. I may not have deserved to live through all the things I have seen, but I did, and I came out on the other side. Pain can't kill me. Pain only makes me feel more alive.

And Edward is always there, like a shadow by my side, his physicality something I can't consciously think of, because that would break my focus, but my body knows that his body is there, and I feel hyper-aware of his glowing skin, his even breathing, his pumping muscles and his clean, musky Edward-scent, almost as if he were touching me. We stop to breathe and drink water at the edge of the ocean, before going back to the house, and I enjoy the breeze from the water, smelling of salt and summer.

Edward recovers long before I do, does some stretching exercises and then stands looking thoughtfully out at the water. I remember how we met Tony here the other day, and I think back to our encounter at the coffee shop. That man is ..weird, for lack of a better word. I don't know if I feel intimidated or intrigued by him. Maybe I should have talked to Dr Banner about him, but right then he completely slipped my mind.

Almost as if Edward was reading my brain he suddenly blurts out:

"I met Tony at the bar today, you know, the inked guy who works at Ink it Black?"

I straighten up, surprised.

"Did you go to the bar today? Were they open for business early?"

Edward is shuffling his feet, pushing at the sand, probably getting a ton into his new trainers.

"Yeah, well I passed by there on the way to the café. I needed to give my new number to Kate so that she can call me whenever she needs to change the schedule." His head jerks up.

"Hey, I forgot to tell you, I got a new cell phone today, so that you'll be able to get a hold of me whenever you need me."

I smile, then frown.

"That's really thoughtful of you, Edward, I just wish I would have thought about it before myself. Of course you need your own phone. You shouldn't spend all your hard-earned money that way, that's all."

Now Edward is frowning too, and looks down on the sand.

"Anyway, what I wanted to tell you was that I saw Tony at the bar in the afternoon, when they were installing a piano and he told me to tell you something, something I didn't understand. He said to tell you that he knew that this one you showed him wasn't your favourite, not really." He watches me for a reaction.

"What did he mean by that, do you know?"

A slow blush creeps up over my face despite my will, and I shake my head, irritated.

"I lent him a book when I ran into him at a coffee shop, a book of poetry, and I showed him a good poem to start out with when he asked me to. It doesn't matter if he thinks it's my favourite or not. He's just trying to show off. Don't pay any attention to him." I huff slightly as I start walking up to the house.

"I started reading Shakespeare's sonnets, did I tell you?" Edward says, changing the subject and sounding much happier, as he catches up with me.

"No, you didn't. Have you read them before? What do you think?"

He knits his brow, and lets me walk ahead of him, taking the long way up from the beach, around the house and the broad stairs to the street, since we're not supposed to be using the deck until it's ready.

"Well, I could use a Thesaurus or something, since there are a lot of old words that I haven't seen before. I did read some of these sonnets in school, but that was a while ago, and then our teacher explained it to us, the imagery and some of the background."

"Which one's your favourite, so far?" I can't help but ask, although I know it's a cheesy question.

"Shalt I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate.." Edward starts up, and I have to stop and look at him, not moving until he's finished, his musical, deep voice a joy to listen to, since he doesn't butcher the lines, but let them flow, rise and ebb, as they were meant to be.

"As long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, so long lives this, and this gives life to thee," he finishes gently, giving me a look filled with laughter but also a subtle longing that is hard to decipher.

"I know what you're thinking, it's an obvious choice, but it _is_ really very good. I like the thought that some things are made to outlast us all, you know, like music and words, and art."

He starts walking again, ahead of me, and it seems that if he had been wearing jeans right now, he would have put his hands deep into his pockets and been hiding his head between his raised shoulder blades. His back looks vulnerable. I clumsily stretch out a hand, and kind of pat his shoulder.

"Hey, you're right, it is one of the best sonnets, I agree. "

His head jerks around and he looks at me, with a slow, embarrassed smile.

"And you read that beautifully, Edward. Did you ever take drama classes in school? I…er…I somehow pictured you as an actor. Have you done any acting?"

He laughs, shaking his head, and stands aside to let me unlock the front door.

"No, I was never into drama, real or imagined. Running and playing the piano and my studies have always kept me pretty busy. If I wanted to attract attention I should have joined a band, but that never happened, so…"

We stand for a minute awkwardly in the hall, before parting ways to go to our rooms and shower. It isn't until I'm about to step out of the shower, pressing the water out of my hair, that I realize with irritation that I forgot to restock with clean towels from the laundry room this morning. And my beloved terry cloth robe is there too. Damn.

Fortunately, I have this silk robe hanging from the bathroom door that Rosalie bought for me, that I only use when I want to feel sophisticated, and I hastily wrap it around myself, tying a double knot around my waist, before carefully tip-toeing down the hallway to the laundry room. I round up a stack of new, fluffy towels, and my old robe and exit the laundry room, only to run into Edward. The surprise makes me lose my balance, and my armful of clean laundry scatters over the floor.

"Damn!" I curse, but Edward is immediately on the floor, refolding and restacking the towels, before looking up at me where I stand, blushing, and embarrassed at my own clumsiness. He pauses, swallows, and his eyes are suddenly big and dark in his face. He looks..hungry. I look down, and suddenly I realize two things: the silk robe is really thin, and since I was wet when I put it on, my wet hair is dripping and the robe is now clinging suggestively to my damp skin. And for some reason, my nipples are hard, and poking at the silk, making it very obvious that I am bra-less beneath it. I cross my arms instinctively across my chest.

Edward leaves the towels on the floor in a neat pile and stands up. He is so close to me I think I can feel his breath on my face, but maybe that's just because I am feeling hyper sensitive right now. I watch him with bated breath, noticing that he is wearing sweat pants and a thin white t-shirt. I can see the outline of his nipples too, and a smattering of chest hair in the v-neck of his t-shirt. He smells incredible, as usual, and I feel a sudden urge to lean into him and sniff him. Unsteadily I step closer and sort of lean on him, because my legs suddenly feel wobbly.

His arms come up tentatively, and his hands brush the outsides of my arms. I grip his t-shirt with both hands and now I have full contact with my burning face, my chest and my thighs, feeling the warmth that radiates from him. I can hear him swallow, and his voice is hoarse when he tries to speak.

"B..Bella? Can I…can I touch you, please?"

* * *

**A/N: Ooooo, cock-blocking cliff-hanger, I know! So, how would you answer Edward's question? Vote: NO! should Bella run screaming back to her room or YES! swoon into his arms now? Which is your favourite Shakespeare sonnet by the way? Mine is no 116. You can google it. It's common. :-) ****Let me know what you think, please…**

**I probably shouldn't give you recs, since then you won't have time to read _my_ story but...If you haven't read The Diva Diaries by KiyaRaven you really, really have to. Bella and Edward meet in drama school, circle each other, are swept away by their love but then swept apart again by hurt. Years later they meet on stage...and you can guess what follows. Drama. It's very well written and has you rooting for this stupid, stubborn, hurting, wonderful couple.**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: I'm really sorry this week's update was delayed: I reworked this chapter since I have received beta help from the generous and talented Trekgeezer, more about that below, so whatever you may like about this chapter is probably her doing! Disclaimer - Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. And this is the cliff we were left hanging from...**

* * *

_His arms come up tentatively, and his hands brush the outsides of my arms. I grip his t-shirt with both hands and now I have full contact with my burning face, my chest and my thighs, feeling the warmth that radiates from him. I can hear him swallow, and his voice is hoarse when he tries to speak._

_"B...Bella? Can I…can I touch you, please?"_

_High, higher than the sun_  
_You shoot me from a gun_  
_I need you to elevate me here,_  
_At the corner of your lips_  
_As the orbit of your hips_  
_Eclipse, you elevate my soul_

_I've lost all self-control_  
_Been living like a mole_  
_Now going down, excavation_  
_I and I in the sky_  
_You make me feel like I can fly_  
_So high, elevation_

_Love, lift me up out of these blues_  
_Won't you tell me something true_  
_I believe in you_

_A mole, living in a hole_  
_Digging up my soul_  
_Going down, excavation_  
_I and I in the sky_  
_You make me feel like I can fly_  
_So high, elevation_

U2: Elevation

* * *

**Chapter 19.**

**BPOV**

I nod, wordlessly, but then I realize that he really needs to know, so I say it, and my voice sounds breathy.

"Yes, Edward, please, I need you to hold me. I want to touch you too. May I touch you?"

He draws a deep breath, with a "yes" that sounds like a soft hiss, and wraps his arms around me, kissing my forehead, as he presses me closer to him, and I can feel his erection very clearly against my hip, yet I am not embarrassed. I am aroused. With a breath that ends in a whimper, I wrap my arms around him too, pressing my face into his t-shirt, inhaling him, and I do something I dreamed about doing, I slip my hands under his t-shirt and caress the bare skin of his back. He shudders when I do it, but not in a recoiling, disgusted way, more as if he can't wait to have me touch more of him.

"Bella, may I kiss you?" his voice is shaking a little with emotion, and he draws back just a fraction, so that he can look into my eyes, trying to read my face.

His eyes ask me for acceptance, "please say that this is okay?" I am feeling raw and sensitive from my fingertips to the bottom of my heart, but I don't hesitate at all when I look him in the eye and say: "Yes, Edward, I would love to kiss you." And I do.

Reaching up, I softly press my lips against his, and we stand like that for a while before softly trailing kisses against each other's lips, cheeks, eyes. I almost sob with joy, because this feels so good. Giving in to my need I lick the corner of his beautiful mouth, which I have wanted to do for the longest time. He opens up and moans into my mouth, letting his silky tongue invade and slide over mine, so that it's now my turn to moan. Edward is a good kisser, and he tastes delicious, like strawberries and cream.

I clutch at his back, then slide my hand up to tangle my fingers in his hair, scratching his scalp, and bringing his face down I kiss him harder, which elicits an even deeper moan. He grinds his cock against my hip, and all I can think is that this feels absolutely wonderful. Soon we are panting and grinding, and one of his big hands is cradling my head while the other is palming my breast, teasing my already erect nipple into almost painful attention.

We break the kiss, coming up for air. With our foreheads pressed together I wonder if his head is spinning as much as mine. But when he slowly starts tugging on the cord to my robe, I panic and stop his hand with both of mine. He immediately stills.

"What's wrong?" he whispers. "Oh, shit, I'm sorry, I'm moving too fast." He lets go of me, and steps back, rubbing his face in his hands.

"Shit, shit, shit. I got carried away, I wasn't thinking."

I take his hands and pull them away from his face, bringing his face back to mine again, looking him in the eye.

"No, Edward, it's fine, it's just…can we talk for a bit, before we go any further?"

I take his hand, and slowly pull him into the guest room, his room, because it's the closest. With nowhere to sit comfortably except on the bed, I sit down and motion him to sit beside me, securing my robe more firmly around me, making sure that I am covered as I sit down.

He sits beside me, looking torn between hope and shame, and I squeeze his hand to show him that it's all right.

"I'm completely comfortable with you touching me, Edward, and I love kissing you, and I'm so turned on right now, I'm probably not even coherent…" At this, he smiles and shakes his head as if to say, "me neither". I clear my throat and continue:

" …but there are things I need to say before we do anything else. First of all, that this doesn't change anything: I still want you to stay here, even if we never have sex, I have no expectations you need to worry about." At this he furrows his brow and opens his mouth to speak, but I hold up my hand to stop him.

"Please, let me finish." He still frowns, but closes his mouth with a snap, as if to show me he respects my right to speak.

"Also, this sounds unromantic, but we need protection if we're going to do this and I know for a fact that there are condoms in the guest bathroom, if you're comfortable using condoms, I know not all men are?" He actually blushes, and nods. This is a relief, because I remember James complaining at the start of our relationships how condoms were a turn-off for a guy and affected both his pleasure and his performance.

"Next, and maybe this is weird but… I don't know if I feel comfortable being naked with you?" He looks at me, puzzled now.

"That's why I stopped you from undressing me. As much as I love your touch, I kind of freak out at the thought of letting you see me naked. It makes me feel…defenseless." I swallow. I've run out of things to say, and I don't know how to explain this feeling of vulnerability, that in spite of my arousal I still feel a cold wave of panic in my stomach just thinking about taking my robe off in front of him. I can't shake the paralyzing feeling that he will probably run screaming when that happens.

Edward sits quiet for a minute, letting his thumb run soothing circles on my hand. Then he asks:

"Can I say something now?" I nod, speechless. He shifts around on the bed so that he's facing me, and picks up both my hands in his.

"Bella, I think you're beautiful and unbelievably sexy, and I am honored and completely dumbstruck that you would consider taking me to your bed. Quite frankly, I can't wait to be inside you." He smirks at me and gives an apologetic shrug, indicating with a downward nod the fact that in spite of all my drama, he is still obviously at half-mast in his sweat pants.

Turning serious, he continues. "I would never push you, and nothing beyond kissing needs to happen right now, but I remember what you said before, about how you hated to not feel in control, and I wonder if it would help if I let you be in complete control of whatever happens next?" He swallows and looks up at me, a soft, almost pleading look in his beautiful eyes, and I feel my heart stutter.

"What…what do you mean?" I whisper. Edward closes his eyes briefly, and then looks at me with complete sincerity.

"Bella, I want you to blindfold me, and tie my hands to the bedpost of this bed. Then you can take your time, undress me, undress yourself, or not, touch me, make love to me, or not. It doesn't matter. Just do whatever you feel comfortable doing, and I won't stop you. You set the pace. You decide. I trust you, and I want you to feel safe too."

I hesitate. "Edward, I'm not really into kinky stuff, I don't know if…"

He squeezes my hands reassuringly and says with a certain emphasis. "This is not about being kinky, Bella This is about setting boundaries so that you can control what happens, and take the time you need. If we end up having sex today, nobody would be happier than me, but if all you feel up to is cuddling with me on this bed, with or without clothes, that's just wonderful too. You can decide. I'm all yours."

His words make my heart race, and I can feel myself flushing. Part of me feels queasy at the thought of tying him up, but at the same time I'm awed that he would trust me like that. Then I remember what Rosalie said, and I gather my courage and nod, making a feeble joke to mask my embarrassment: " All right, as long as we're both clear on the fact that I'm not going to use any gags or whips, okay?" He smirks at me again, and I can't help smiling. Suddenly he stands up, all brisk and assertive.

"Do you have any duct tape in the house? Because since you're not into kinky stuff, I'm guessing you don't have any actual bondage rope?" I blush and shake my head no.

"But I think there's some duct tape in the kitchen, if you're sure that would really be okay? I have some scarves we could probably use."

While Edward rummages through the kitchen drawers for the duct tape, I go to my room and gather up the scarves and on the way back I slip into the guest bathroom to get the packet of condoms from the back of a drawer.

When I walk into Edward's room, I am surprised and touched to see that he's turned off the lights and put some tea lights on the dresser and nightstand, setting a more romantic mood. He strips his t-shirt off and lies down on the bed, duct tape and scissors neatly laid out on the nightstand. I swallow, looking at his naked chest. This is really happening. Then I tentatively hold up my handful of silk scarves.

"Don't you think you'll be more comfortable tied up with these? That tape looks kind of…brutal?" He shrugs.

"I don't mind either way, whatever you feel comfortable with is fine. Just make sure I can't slip out of them if I get too excited, as that completely defeats the purpose." He smiles again, and there it is: that surreal connection between us. I can't believe Edward is laying here on this bed, trusting me, inviting me to tie him up and use him as I see fit. This is mind-blowing, scary, and a complete turn-on at the same time. I've never done anything like this. Am I wrong to want to?

I watch him blindfold himself with one of the scarves, before I awkwardly perch on the bed to tie first one of his hands, then the other, to the headboard. I make sure he has a pillow behind his head so that he won't bang it on any hard surfaces.

He sighs, and visibly tries to relax, while I slip out of my robe and into a fresh pair of panties and a t-shirt. The condoms I leave on the nightstand with the duct tape.

"Are you sure you're okay?" I ask one last time, feeling guilty now that I have him at my mercy.

I can still see his smile beneath the green scarf as he turns his head in the direction of my voice. "Bella, as long as I can be with you I am more than okay. Please touch me, that's all I ask."

Where to begin? I sit on the bed and start out doing what I want most, to simply touch him. I trail my hands and fingers over his beautiful chest and arms, smoothing them over the soft skin of his chest and the smattering of chest hair - ticklish against my palms. I discover that his stomach is sensitive, not ticklish, just really sensitive, because he hisses when I caress him there, moaning "yes!" and I can almost see his cock twitch beneath his sweat pants.

I rest my cheek for a moment on his stomach, blowing softly across his skin, feeling an overwhelming tenderness inside me, almost soothing my fears. I raise my head and tell him: "Do you know how beautiful you are Edward? Inside and out, you're the most beautiful man I've ever met."

I can see the shadow of a smile on his lips, and hear it in his voice when he says: "I think 'handsome' is the word you're looking for."

I shake my head and softly draw circles with my fingertips on his warm, fragrant skin as I reply: "No, you're truly beautiful. Like an angel."

I lean my face against his chest and trail my nose and lips over the places my hands have been, kissing my way over his neck and shoulders, the inside of his arms, his chest, licking, then carefully sucking on his nipples. This earns me sighs and moans, followed by a sharply sucked-in breath when I kiss his stomach softly, licking the line where his sweat pants begin, and then sucking softly on his hipbones.

"Bella," Edward says, and his voice is shaky, "you're kind of killing me here. Please, let me kiss you."

I lean against him, and lift the edge of the scarf so that I can kiss him, deeply. I press my body against his body, and he angles himself to the side, so that our legs are tangled in one another. Edward grinds his hips against my mine while I kiss him with abandon, only coming up for air to nip and suck at his jawline, his earlobes and neck. He moans lustfully.

I disentangle myself from him briefly to stand up and take off my t-shirt, and when I boldly lower myself on top of him so that our naked chests meet, it feels incredible, skin on skin. I whimper a little at the contact. It's been so long since I felt this kind of silky warmth, and I move slowly, savoring the feeling, lost in the moment. I can't remember anything feeling this good, ever.

"Bella…oh, I love feeling your breasts, they're so soft. I've dreamed about touching them, kissing them. Come closer, please?"

I hesitate for a moment, at the thought of him kissing my imperfect body, and he must feel the tension in me, because he asks, in a softer voice; "What's wrong? Are you scared?"

I press myself against him for a moment, feeling how warm and solid he is, and how the heat grows between us where we are joined, skin on skin. I whisper: "Yes."

He sighs. "Bella, if I could hold you now, I would. Because you need to know, there is nothing that could keep me away from you, unless you tell me to back off. I want more of you, everything you feel comfortable giving. Please don't be afraid of me, I would never hurt you."

His voice is pleading, and although I feel trepidation at the thought of him kissing me there, I crawl up, keeping my weight off him and lean forward so that my breasts are close to his face. He eagerly turns his mouth to the offered nipple, lapping and circling it with his tongue, then sucking on it until it's hard. He then gives the same attention to my other jealous nipple. I run my fingers through his unruly hair while he's sucking and kissing my breasts, and I find myself half straddling him, grinding myself down on his erection, feeling my now damp panties getting more and more scrunched up with my movements, seeking friction.

My boldness reaching new heights, I don't think I can wait any longer to see him naked, so I ask, surprised at how raspy my voice sounds: "Edward, is it okay if I take the rest of your clothes off now?"

Breathless, but still smiling, he responds "Oh, Bella, I thought you'd never ask!"

Blushing, I wriggle his sweat pants past his hips, and he bucks up to help me get them off, then kick them off at the foot of the bed. This leaves only his black boxers, and I swallow, feeling like licking my lips before peeling the boxers off him, releasing his now very hard length. He is so beautiful, all of him. I used to think that cocks were funny and sort of disgusting when I was younger, but I remember being intrigued by James' cock, how it was hard and soft at the same time, and I enjoyed learning about what he liked and didn't like me doing with it.

But this somehow feels so different. Better. More. More intense and safer, at the same time. I'm not the same person anymore and this isn't James. This is – us. As I gently caress Edward's cock with my fingers, I hear him whimper, and I almost whimper too. I can't wait to feel him, so I wrap my hand around him and slowly slide up and down, feeling the silky skin move under my fingers, and the solid warm hardness of him growing even firmer as I increase my speed.

"Bella, please, that feels wonderful, but if you keep it up I'll be cuming in seconds!" Edward's voice is desperate, and I briefly wonder why that would be such a bad thing. James never felt bad about cuming. But I respect his wishes, and I slow down, and gently caress him with my fingers, cupping his balls and kissing his muscled thighs. I lick my way up the inside of his thighs and gently across his balls, nipping on his hipbones again, before tentatively licking his cock from the base to the tip, licking up a drop of pre-cum before swirling my tongue around just the tip.

"Yes!" Edward nearly bucks his hips off the bed, and if I hadn't my leg slung across his I would have nearly fallen off the bed myself.

"Was that okay?" I ask, breathlessly, uncertain of what he really likes. "Are you okay with me licking your cock?" It is kind of liberating to know that he can't watch me or criticize me. This makes me feel surprisingly bold.

He's laughing, but it almost sounds as if he's sobbing when he answers me. "Bella, your mouth on my cock is the best thing I could possibly dream of. But you don't need to do anything you don't feel comfortable doing. I have to warn you right now, though, I'm not going to last very long if you keep this up. It's torture to feel you, but not be able to touch you. Please let me touch more of you, Bella."

So I kneel between his legs, stroking them with my palms, and lean down, letting my hair trail across his stomach. I slowly ease his cock into my mouth, eliciting a long drawn-out moan. I alternate between caressing his balls and letting my hand trail up to gently pinch his nipples while I move my other hand up and down in time with the movements of my mouth. I carefully squeeze the part of his length that is too much for me to wrap my mouth around. I love the salty taste of him, and how I can feel his veins stand out as he gets more and more excited. James always had a thing about trying to come down my throat. This made blow-jobs a damned torture for both of us, since my gag reflex is very sensitive and I never could relax the way he wanted me to. I never managed to please him, and he couldn't hide his disappointment.

But this feels wonderful, and I try to take as much as I can of Edward's beautiful cock into my mouth, alternating between sucking and swirling my tongue around the sensitive ridge and head. I'm not feeling self-conscious or second-guessing myself, just letting myself enjoy this, because he's so clearly enjoying himself.

The sounds he makes are incredibly sexy. He's panting, cursing and moaning my name, writhing so that I am momentarily afraid that either the scarves or the bed will break. I'm amazed at my own courage, but I love that I can do this to him, I love that I can give him this pleasure. Suddenly he whimpers "Bella, I'm so damned close, I can't hold it any longer. Please get off or I'm gonna come in your mouth."

I don't particularly enjoy the taste of semen - it's bitter on the tongue and smells funky. But for some reason I really, really want to let Edward come in my mouth, so I keep doing what I'm doing, and feel the telltale twitch, and the rigidity in his legs before he suddenly and violently comes. The hot stream of cum runs on my tongue when he pulses as I slow my movements, and gently lick him, discreetly letting the cum leak out of my mouth onto his stomach. I'm not that fond of swallowing.

Tired, but happy, I roll down and lie by his side, holding him with my arm and leg slung across him. I nuzzle his throat, kissing the side of his face, watching his now sweaty chest heaving. He turns his face quickly when he feels my lips, catches my mouth and kisses me passionately. I can hear how his breathing starts to calm down.

"Bella, I can't tell you how incredible you feel," he murmurs against my lips. "That was the most mind-blowing experience I've ever had." He pauses, then whispers: "Thank you."

I can't help giggling, as I caress his face with my fingers. He kisses my fingertips when he finds them on his lips.

"I really enjoyed that too, Edward. You're so incredibly sexy when you give yourself up to your pleasure, I feel like I could watch you forever. Are you okay?" He nods emphatically and I smile.

"Have you had enough? Should we stop now?" I am kind of worried about his hands, but they still have normal color, and he flexes his fingers as if to prove that he's all right.

"Whatever you want is fine, Bella. Was that…too much?" His voice is hesitant, as if he's worried he's done something wrong. I snuggle into his body to show that I'm loving every moment together with him.

"No, that was wonderful. It made me feel kind of powerful, actually." I smile into his chest, finding it hard to believe that he's lying here, naked beside me, sharing this bed. I almost tell him that was so far my most successful attempt at giving a man oral sex, but then I realize this would probably be over-sharing. I'm not sure I want to know about his previous sexual relationships, and I should probably assume he feels the same way about mine. I realize that we need to clean up, and raise myself off the bed.

"Don't freak out now, but I'm just going to get a washcloth and some water. I'll be right back."

I quickly slip out of bed, hurry to the bathroom, where I get a washcloth soaked in warm water and a glass of cold water. I return to bed, gently wipe the cum off Edward's skin, and then I ask:

"Would you like some water?" Edward nods, and for a moment I'm confused as to how I'm going to get him to drink without releasing him.

"Do you think you could raise your head to drink this? I don't want to dump the glass over you by accident." He smiles and nods, seemingly completely relaxed after his orgasm.

I carefully cradle the back of his head, and slowly tip the glass, making sure he has time to feel the water coming, and give him time to drink, once, then twice, before I kiss him and release him again, putting the glass down beside the bed.

"Bella," he whispers, "I would really, really like to taste you now." For a moment, I'm confused, because he just tasted me, but then I get his meaning, and I'm grateful he can't see my violent blush.

"Oh, I don't know Edward, I'm not sure I'd feel comfortable doing that, not with you tied up like this anyway. I've never actually…wouldn't that be unpleasant for you?"

Edward just shakes his head and smiles. "Bella, I can't think of anything sexier right now than you sitting on my face while I'm tied up like this. Please, can we at least try? If you don't like it, just tell me, and we'll stop. Please?"

I swallow, hesitating. My attempts at receiving oral sex haven't been that positive either, but I know women are supposed to enjoy it, so I guess I should show more enthusiasm at Edward offering like this? Well, I've already surprised myself this far, so I might as well outdo myself and try it. As I wriggle out of my damp panties it occurs to me, he won't be able to see my gigantic ass above his face with the blindfold on.

"Okay. But you have to tell me right away if it's uncomfortable, or… uh…if I don't smell right or something." Gingerly, I crawl up so that I have my knees on each side of Edward's head, and grip the headboard.

Carefully, I lower myself down, so that his eager mouth is able to kiss my nether lips. I feel self-conscious and uncomfortable, but I tell myself I'm doing this for Edward. If he realizes it's not enjoyable for either of us he will probably not ask again, like James.

In spite of the fact that I feel clumsy and exposed perched like this, I will myself to relax, and close my eyes, trying to recapture the sexy mood again. Edward's lips are soft as he nibbles my heated folds and then licks my slit from top to bottom, flicking my clit gently with his tongue. I moan at the sensation flooding me, and move slightly to give him better access. The tip of his nose playfully nudges my clit as he licks around my opening and then enters me with his tongue and in spite of my initial doubts this feels unbelievably good. He hums against me and murmurs "Oh, God, Bella you taste incredible! I could just lick you for hours…" and then he dives in again. His eager mouth on me feels so good that I'm almost rubbing myself on his face.

Before I know it, I feel that familiar tightening of my abdomen, and the tingling feeling that precedes orgasm. Suddenly I see myself from the outside, a naked woman wantonly squirming on the face of a beautiful young man, helpless beneath her, and the image is so erotic and raw that I shudder and cum violently, pressing myself against Edward who continues to suck on my clit, until I can't take it anymore. Hypersensitive and pulsing with the aftershocks of my orgasm, I carefully move and curl up on the side of the bed, clutching at poor Edward, who is also breathing heavily beside me. I'm making small whimpering noises because I can't really speak.

Once I've come down, I hug Edward hard, with tears in my eyes, saying: "God, that was amazing. I've never managed to cum from oral sex before, and that was just..amazing." I feel my vocabulary deteriorating with my level of sexual satisfaction and I wonder idly if good sex makes you stupid.

Edward sucks in a deep breath and laughs a shaky laugh.

"Are you kidding me? That was just about the sexiest thing I've ever experienced. You taste so good, and feeling you so wet, all over my face, God, I'm so hard now, it's almost painful."

I look down, and it's true. Hello, not-so-little-Edward! Feeling more familiar with Edward's body now, I gently take him in hand, and caress him slowly. Edward moans and writhes on the bed beside me. "Yess, please Bella, can you ride me?" he pushes up into my hand as if his cock has a life of its own. Then he stills, breathing hard. "I'm sorry. Is this too much? Have you had enough? We can stop, you know. I don't want to push you; this is so much better than anything I could have dreamed of."

I hesitate, but really, the temptation is impossible to resist. In spite of my fears of doing too much too soon, I do want to feel him inside me, so bad.

"Okay," I say, in a small voice. "But please don't be disappointed if I can't hold out until you come, I'm not too good at being on top." Edward stops moving, and turns his head to my voice, saying seriously.

"Bella, will you stop saying things like that. You're amazing and sexy, and you completely own me, scarves or no scarves. I don't want to leave this bed until you've had me and I'm willing to spend the whole weekend tied to it if it will help." He smirks at me, and I can't help smiling. "Now, let me say it again: I can't wait to be inside you, so please Bella, if you want me to, help me out here."

Without further hesitation, I reach for the condoms on the nightstand, rip one packet open and gingerly roll it onto his impressive length, enjoying his hiss of anticipation.

Slowly, I position myself over him, angling him at my very slippery entrance, and sit down on his cock, agonizingly careful, inch by inch, sliding out and then sliding back a little further, coating him bit by bit. In spite of the fact that I'm no virgin, he feels big, stretching me inside, and I remind myself that it's been, what, two years since I last had sex? I watch Edward's face and I sense the same concentration and growing feeling of bliss on him that I feel on mine. When I've finally managed to sheath him completely he exhales loudly.

"Shiiit! Oh, this feels so good, so good. Oh my God, you're so warm and tight around me." He seems to remember himself and asks me, panting a little and straining against his bonds: "Does it hurt? Are you okay?"

I nod, then remember he can't see me, and my voice shakes a little with emotion.

"More than okay, Edward. This is…" I can't finish the sentence, so instead I start to rock against him slowly, letting him slide out, then slide in, first carefully, then gradually with more force, bracing my hands against his chest, slamming myself all the way down, feeling his hips buck up to meet me as we increase our pace. Before long we are both panting and sweaty, and I vow to do more yoga every day, to gain the stamina I obviously need for this.

Edward is breathing hard, and starts begging in earnest. "Bella, please, would you let me use my hands? I promise not to remove the blindfold until you tell me it's okay, but I really, really need to feel you. Please?"

I only hesitate for a moment. I trust Edward, and to be honest I really want to feel his hands on my skin too. I lean forward, awkwardly, wanting to keep him inside of me, and tug at the knots in the silk scarves. They have become uncomfortably tight with the way Edward has been pulling on his restraints. I curse, and frustrated, I reach for the scissors on the nightstand, gingerly but resolutely cutting through the silk. I have more scarves than I need, and right now I need Edward so much more.

As soon as his hands are free they find their way instinctively to my breasts, kneading the soft flesh, pinching the nipples until they stand out eagerly. I shudder and continue to bounce up and down, enjoying the double sensation of his cock and his hands on me. Then, just when the sensation becomes overwhelming, he pulls me down so that his mouth can envelop one breast, his one hand guides my hip while the other finds my clit and starts circling it. All the while Edward continues to thrust into me.

I hear myself whimper and moan his name as I clench around the new sensation of being completely and deeply filled by his hardness, and then I'm cuming, and cuming, and just before I collapse I feel him gripping my hips in both hands, steady as a vice as he slams into me repeatedly shouting "Shit! Shit, Bella, yes!" and shudders violently as he comes again. Completely spent, and unable to hold myself up anymore, I glide down and feel him sliding out of me as I fold into a sort of fetal position beside him.

Immediately, Edward curls himself around me, kissing my hair and then draws up the blankets and sheets to envelop us in a cocoon. His arm around my waist is heavy, and I'm too exhausted to speak. We lie there for minutes in the flickering light of the candles, my mind beginning to drift off, knowing somewhere inside me that we should probably talk about what just happened. Edward's breathing is slow and tickles my eyelashes, and I can feel him pull me a little closer as he settles down for sleep. His touch is so comfortable, and yet his long fingers trail fire across my skin. I don't want to disturb him, and I'm feeling tired enough to doze off myself. Then I hear him sigh, almost inaudibly: "I love you Bella."

I don't know if he's talking in his sleep, but, startled wide awake by his words, I lie there, listening to his quiet breathing, waiting for a sign. Nothing happens. I carefully slip off the now pointless blindfold and stare at his beautiful face, so peaceful and vulnerable in sleep. He looks so terribly young like this. I remain like that for a long time, torn between the wonderful, sated feeling permeating my body, and the hungry feeling filling my heart.

* * *

**A/N: Receiving beta advice for the first time has been a sobering experience: I now realize how much is flawed in my writing and feel I have to make a choice. Either I take a massive time out and spend time going over everything carefully, reworking it, before publishing shorter chapters and more far between, or I plod along the way I have been, knowing that this is, embarrassingly, not the story it might perhaps have been. Neither alternative feels particularly tempting to me, and probably not to you either. **

**I'll take a week to think this through, and I promise I will update next weekend as usual. Don't worry, I won't abandon this story: I couldn't even if I wanted to, because these people are now living in my head, and won't stop speaking to me. :) ****(Perfectly normal.) Thank you for reading!**


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Disclaimer - Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. Thank you to my gracious beta, Trekgeezer, for editing this for me. I aim to do better, I promise! And, as always, thank you for reading…**

* * *

_Time stands still  
Beauty in all she is  
I will be brave  
I will not let anything  
take away  
what's standing in front of me  
Every breath,  
every hour has come to this_

_One step closer_

And all along I believed  
I would find you  
Time has brought  
your heart to me  
I have loved you for a  
thousand years  
I'll love you for a  
thousand more

One step closer

Christina Perri: A thousand years.

* * *

**Chapter 20.**

**EPOV**

I blink, confused, as I sit up in my bed, alone. The room is dark, so it must still be evening. It's not night because I hear the faint sounds of voices and traffic outside the open window. The bed smells of sex and sweat and Bella. I smile, dazed. It wasn't a dream, and I'm so fucking lucky!

I turn on the lamp by the bed and survey the room. My sweat pants and boxers are at the foot of the bed, but no sign of Bella or any of the stuff from our unexpected sex session earlier. I get up and wince as I notice the used condom that has leaked on my sheets, making a disgusting wet spot in the middle of my bed. I strip the sheet, but keep the pillows and the rest of the bedding, because I want to hang onto that wonderful smell for as long as I can. I really, really hope that we will have more chances to make this room smell like sex together, because those were by far the best hours of my life. I just can't stop smiling!

I slip on my boxers and sweat pants and gather some clean clothes from the dresser before walking out into the hallway. I call out "Bella?" quietly, in case she went back to her room to sleep. I feel my heart lift when I hear her soft voice answer me from the kitchen.

I pause in the doorway, taking her in. She is perched on one of the high chairs by the kitchen counter, sipping tea and reading a book. She's dressed in a pair of black yoga pants and a white t-shirt, her dark hair hanging loosely over her shoulders. When she looks up at me she looks embarrassed and shy, but completely lovely.

I walk over to her quickly, dropping everything that's in my hands on the floor just to run my fingers through her long, soft hair. Cupping her face in my hands, I kiss her gently on the mouth. I lean into her and she snakes her hands around me, caressing my naked back. It feels so damned good. I never want to stop touching her, now that I can.

"Hey, I'm sorry I went to sleep like that. Why didn't you wake me? Didn't you want to shower with me?" I look at her and can't help smiling, she's so damned cute when she's blushing like that.

She bites her lip, smiling shyly, and suddenly my heart-rate picks up. I hope that I haven't misinterpreted this whole thing; maybe she's already having regrets? I sit down next to her, trailing my fingers along the beautiful line of her collarbone and down her arm, taking her hand in mine.

"Bella, that was the best experience of my life. Are you okay? I didn't hurt you or anything, did I?"

She shakes her head, and lifts my hands up to examine my wrists. They are faintly outlined in red from where the silk chafed my skin when I was thrashing about like a horny maniac.

"Does it hurt?" Her eyes are dark and big, scared-looking.

I shake my head. "No, I honestly don't feel it. And it's not like it's your fault or anything, I completely did that to myself, you know? I'm just so glad we could think of a way to make this work, to let you be close to me like that. And even if I'm not into kinky stuff, I totally get the allure of bondage now. Being helpless and unable to move like that while you touched me all over was the biggest turn-on of my life."

I laugh, gently touching her face. "My only regret is that I didn't get to see you doing that stuff to me. But then, I would probably have passed out from excitement, so it's all for the best, really."

She smiles, but still looks doubtful, so I feel I need to get inside her head more, to know if she's really okay.

"Bella, please, I'm not fishing for compliments here. Just tell me so I don't have to worry anymore. How do you feel? Was it okay, what we did?"

Her eyes are on me now, and they are so intense I can almost feel their heat.

"Edward, that was so much more than 'okay,' I can't even begin to tell you!"

And then her hands are around my neck, and she's pulling my head down, kissing me with so much passion it makes my head spin. I respond in kind, and before I know it, I'm pulling her to me, moaning into her mouth. I have a fucking hard-on and I may just take her right here on the kitchen counter. That's how turned on and out of control I feel.

We finally break the kiss, standing there swaying on the floor, panting. We're leaning into one another, grasping for reality, grasping for balance. I am suddenly conscious of the fact that I'm half naked, haven't showered after sex and am poking her in the stomach with an erection the size of Australia! She must think I'm completely obsessed with sex, but I'm honestly just obsessed with Bella.

"Wow! Just…wow, Bella. Maybe we should slow down for a minute before I do something really stupid, like trying to hump you on the hard, cold kitchen floor," I say. I am rewarded with a giggle from Bella, who is catching her breath and caressing my face with her fingers.

"Yes, sure, you were on your way to the shower, I know. Just go ahead. Do you want to eat something? I could fix you something while you shower."

She points to the fridge, and I can feel my stomach growling. I remember that I haven't eaten since much earlier. Still, I can't resist wiggling my eyebrows at her suggestively.

"Hey, are you sure I can't interest you in a shower with me instead?"

Bella just pouts and shoves me, which somehow feels incredibly sexy. I very much want to catch her hands, press her up against the fridge and kiss her senseless. Instead I gather up my scattered clothes from the floor and head for the shower, smiling at her over my shoulder.

"A sandwich or anything would be fine, thank you!"

While I shower, I go back and forth between emotions. First of all, I can't believe how great it is to finally make this kind of progress with Bella, not only because it clearly is a big deal for her to let anyone get close, but because I can't believe she'd let that person be me. Also, I'm seriously worried that I'll hurt her somehow, not physically so much as emotionally. I don't want to, but I can't see how I can ever be enough for someone like her.

I'm a mess emotionally, though I may be better at hiding it than she is. I'm too young and probably not sophisticated or experienced enough not to bore her to death after a while. I will surely be an embarrassment to her friends, Rosalie included, if she ever finds out we're in a romantic relationship. To top it off, I am basically lying to her about everything that is important in my life. Eventually I have to leave her to avoid telling her, or stay and tell her the truth. Either way she will feel betrayed.

Suddenly I think maybe I'm going to have a panic attack of my own – I feel like I can't breathe. I can feel my heart constrict painfully, beating hard in my chest. I shut off the water, and lean on the shower wall with closed eyes, trying to get my breathing and heart-rate under control.

One thing at a time, I tell myself. First of all, I'm going to be happy about everything that's happened, and I'm going to try my hardest to make Bella happy, too. After a while, when we get our bearings, maybe I'll see where this is all heading. Then it will be time to think about things like filling her in on my sordid past, or worrying about where we'll be come September. Maybe she will just want to fuck me for a couple of weeks, then decide I'm not worth the trouble and ask me to move on. I shudder. That thought is completely unbearable. I cannot even contemplate the thought of Bella turning away from me now. I swallow, reach for a towel, and vigorously rub myself dry.

The trick is to not think about the things that really hurt, I already know that. Be an "in-the-moment" kind of guy, I tell myself. That's all we have, anyway. This moment. And I am going to fucking treasure every moment I get with Bella.

When I'm dressed in shorts and a polo shirt I try to tame my hair, give up, and walk towards the kitchen. Bella has some tea lights lit in the living room. I find her on the couch, listening to music, guitars strumming, soft voices singing. It feels intimate. There's food and drink on the table, a plate with sandwiches, another with cheese and fruit, some water, a bottle of beer and a bottle of white wine. Bella looks up at me and smiles.

"You look wonderful, you know that, right?" She gestures to the spread on the table. "I wasn't sure what you wanted so I gave you some options. There's a turkey sandwich, a ham and cheese, and a tuna salad sandwich, some cheese and fruit, and your choice of drinks. Oh, I could get you a soda, if you prefer that?"

I plop down on the couch, and promptly draw her up onto my lap so that I can put my arms around her and bury my face into her fragrant, soft hair. I sigh contentedly. Bella giggles, and I love that sound so much.

"Anything is fine, as long as you stay right here. Don't go anywhere, I forbid it."

"Not even bathroom breaks?" Bella's voice is amused, but I can feel her snuggling into me, and I know she's feeling what I'm feeling: touching is not enough. I wish I could breathe Bella into my lungs and devour her, I want to be that close to her.

"No bathroom breaks. We'll just get your physician to come out here and hook us up with IVs and catheters, and then we won't have to move, just snuggle here forever, looking out at the sky and the ocean."

Bella clears her throat: "Actually, I appreciate the original thought, which sounds romantic, but on the whole, that seems kind of uncomfortable. And wouldn't all those tubes and stuff get in the way of, you know…sex?"

She makes her voice sound sultry, and I know it's meant as a joke, but God help me if my cock doesn't twitch at the sound. I sigh, and release Bella marginally, just so I won't accidentally grind her down on my erection. I lean forward, grabbing the nearest sandwich. I try to talk around eating, and gently push Bella a little to the side so that I won't leave crumbs in her hair or anything.

"You know…when I was a kid…my Mom would….never…let us eat…in…the living room." I think Bella can puzzle out what I'm saying, but she's wrinkling her nose and shaking her head, moving away from me.

"Gross, Edward. I can totally understand why your mother wouldn't want anyone with such appalling table manners to go unsupervised outside the kitchen area. Keep your mouth closed when you chew, why don't you? I'll be over here, quietly nibbling on some cheese and fruit until you're done."

But of course that's total nonsense, and once I stop turning her stomach, Bella can't keep away from me any more than I can keep away from her. We end up half reclined on the couch. With her back in my lap I play with her hair while I finish the sandwiches (Bella's tuna salad turns out to be my new favorite) and half a bottle of wine. Bella eats some cheese and apple with her wine. If there are crumbs, I'm sure neither of us cares. We're just so damned comfortable that I swear I never want to eat at the table again in my life.

Then it's getting late, and I can see that Bella's eyelids are fluttering shut in spite of my brilliant conversational skills. I laugh and poke her gently in the ribs, suggesting we go to bed.

And here is a new question: Where exactly is "bed", my room or hers? Or do we sleep apart? Just as I think I'm going to have to be the needy one and whine and beg for some more snuggling, Bella sits up and looks at me, with eyes that are warm and dark, catching the flickering reflections from the tea lights.

"Edward, you don't have to do this if you don't feel comfortable, but …would you like to come sleep in my bed tonight? Or, if you'd prefer it, would it be okay if I stayed in your room? I just…I don't know, I don't want to be that far away from you, that's all." She looks insecure and vulnerable, and I pull her in and kiss her forehead, then look into her eyes.

"Bella, I'm so glad _you_ brought that up, because otherwise I would have had to whine and beg for the same thing, and I think whining is very unattractive in a man. I just want to hold you all night. Is that okay?" She exhales, nods, and I can see that she feels relieved that this isn't a big deal.

Just like that, I move my tooth brush into her bathroom and we get my pillows and blanket from the guest room. I ask her if it's okay that I sleep in my boxers and she blushes, and mumbles something I can't hear, so then I have to catch her and ask. She whispers "You're justsodamnedsexyinboxers that I might not get any sleep at all," This is completely true, only in reverse, because that's exactly how _I_ feel when she shows up wearing nothing but sleep shorts and an over-sized t-shirt. So I feel I have to ask:

"Bella, are you worried that we won't be able to sleep because I'll want to have sex all the time, or that I won't want to have sex all the time?" She laughs, embarrassed.

"Actually, a little of both. I want you to think that I'm incredibly sexy all the time, but at the same time I don't want to wake up and freak out because you're starting to undress me in the middle of the night or something."

I hold out my arms to her, she snuggles into me willingly beneath the blankets, and it just feels so good. I stroke her hair and whisper: "Don't worry, I want to make love to you all the time, but that doesn't mean we have to."

Her hand, that's been caressing my naked chest in a way that is at once soothing and tantalizing, accidentally brushes down against my erection, and I laugh and moan at the same time.

"Just ignore him, Bella. There's no way I won't get an erection with you this close to me, but that doesn't mean we have to do anything about it. I still want to sleep with you, too, not just have mind-blowing sex."

I can feel her smile on my chest when she turns her face to my body.

"So, Mr. Masen, you want to have your cake and eat it too?"

"Mmmm, Ms. Swan, if the cake is of this particular delicious variety I want to make sure there's always more where that came from," I mumble, tracing the curve of her rib cage and hip over her t-shirt. I marvel at the beautiful, soft shape of her and wish I could just kiss her all over. Hell, I'd wear a blindfold 24/7 if it meant I get to touch her anywhere.

Suddenly I feel her wriggling, and then her hand comes up to my face, and damn if her fingers aren't coated with the essence of Bella. The smell is just out of this world. She eases one finger into my open mouth, which I suck on automatically. I'm equally shocked and turned on by this unexpectedly brazen move. Then I watch her put the other finger into her own mouth, and I think she's smiling.

"Bella, what the hell …?" my voice sounds hoarse and breathy.

"Mmm, Mr. Masen, I hope you like my frosting?" she mumbles, and then breaks out laughing. Just like that, I am turned on beyond belief, and I growl and flip her around, pinning her to the bed beneath me, kissing and biting her throat and shoulders until her giggling turns to moans. I let one hand slowly slip up under her t-shirt, cupping her breast experimentally.

She fits my hand so perfectly, soft and full and real. The only thing that could possibly feel better would be where my other hand is carefully heading now, down into her panties. I'm relieved to feel her legs parting without hesitation, giving me better access. I run my fingers through the soft curls of her pubic hair, slowly circle her clit, and slide my index finger along her slit where her folds are so wet and soft and silky. I can't help moaning into our kiss.

"Bella," I whisper. "Are you sore? Does it feel okay when I touch you here?" I look at her face and in the shadows I think I see nothing but pure need and adoration as she nods.

"Yes, yes, Edward touch me. I want to touch you, too." And her hand is moving down over my stomach, then beneath my boxers, slipping around my straining cock. This offers relief and torture at the same time, because I immediately imagine her soft walls wrapped around me, instead.

I groan as I let my fingers explore her, easing first one, then two fingers into her wet opening, feeling them slide home as if this is where they belong. This is tight, warm heaven, so smooth and slick and welcoming that I can't wait for my cock or tongue to be invited in.

"God, Bella, you feel so good. I just want to be inside you all the time, now that I know how amazing you feel." I breathe. And it's true, I wish I had the stamina of a sex athlete, if it meant that I could be sliding inside Bella without a pause, feeling her clench around me again and again. I just want to make her feel good.

And I can tell from the little noises she makes, and the way she grinds against my hand, that she feels good. I keep working her with my fingers, rubbing her clit with the heel of my hand, while the other snakes the t-shirt up far enough so that I can bury my head between her breasts.

Maybe it's because she is too turned on to think, or maybe she doesn't even care at this point, but I care, and I feel like shouting it out to the world. "I can see Bella Swan's tits, and they are fucking amazing!" In the faint light filtering in through the shutters, I can still make them out; round and perfect, with dark nipples, the most beautiful sight I've ever seen. I just have to kiss them, and lick them and suck on them. I can feel my orgasm building as I continue thrusting into her hand.

"Bella, are you close, because I'm so damned close, and I would really, really like to be inside you before I come? May I?"

Bella's eyes glint in the moonlight as she whispers "There are condoms in the bedside drawer."

She lets go of my cock, which makes me whimper with the loss of contact, but she rolls over and quickly finds a condom in the drawer. In no time at all I'm kicking my boxers off and helping her out of her loose sleep shorts and innocent white boy shorts (note to self: must get Bella sexy lingerie). Bella tears the wrapper open with her teeth and I take the condom and roll it on. I'm kneeling above her, my hands shaking with nervousness and need. She watches me, touching herself, which makes me so hard it hurts.

And then I hover above her, realizing that in the dimness of the moonlit room, I am looking at a lot of naked skin. It's the most I've ever seen of Bella, and she is absolutely and breathtakingly lovely. It isn't difficult at all to go slow, because I want to savor this moment. I slip into her tight warmth watching her beautiful face. She closes her eyes, moving her head back. Her mouth forms a silent perfect "O" as she feels me pressing in, filling her. She's wrapping her legs around me, and I think maybe my heart is about to burst.

When I am all the way in, I just hold still for a minute, resting in the blissful feeling of being surrounded by Bella, her softness, her fragrance, her embrace. It's perfect. So that's what I say, reverently, looking down into her eyes, touching her face. "You're perfect." And I see her eyes glint with tears, but they're good tears, I think, because she pulls me closer and then her hips urge me to start moving, so I do.

And I swear to God, if I died right then, I wouldn't know it because heaven is right here with me on this bed, soft and sweet and sweaty and needy, moaning and thrashing, and calling to God as I go faster and harder. I can feel her climax building, and then she is cuming, and it's an incredible feeling, her walls clenching around me. For a fleeting moment I wish she could come on my face once more, just so I could feel that glorious wetness seeping out of her. The mere thought pushes me over the edge, too, and I cum hard, cursing and almost sobbing, as I keep rocking into her, drawing out the aftershocks of her orgasm and mine.

Once we've collapsed together in a trembling heap, I hear her weak laugh. Bella musses my hair. "I can't believe I turned you on with that cheesy line!" she says.

I shake my head, and mumble into her shoulder.

"Bella, everything about you turns me on, your face, your smell, your voice, you could be reciting the square root of pi and that would probably make me horny."

Then I sigh and turn over to take care of the condom, because I sure don't want to leave any nasty wet spots in Bella's bed. Once I come back from the bathroom, I think Bella is asleep. She is lying on her side, the blanket drawn up around her. The soft light from the crack of the bathroom door makes her dark brown hair shine; her face is vulnerable and open like a child's. I could probably just sit here and watch her sleep all night, she's that beautiful.

Turning out the light I roll into bed, drawing Bella closer and spooning her. I hear a contented sigh, and I could swear she mumbles "I love you" as my hand clutches her hip and caresses her soft stomach under the t-shirt. This makes me want to jump out of bed and run around the house, fist pumping and screaming! But I don't. I just fall asleep with the widest grin in the world plastered on my face. I'm thinking one thing - and one thing only - I can't wait for tomorrow to come.

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**A/N: Just a quick note to let you know I will spend more time editing my chapters now that I have a beta. This may mean I'll space my updates out to every two weeks down the line. I'll give you a heads up before that happens, though. Thank you for your patience!**

**Oh, if you haven't read Close Your Eyes by CaraNo, you should. Two teenagers: Bella's broken, Edward's a total jerk for a horrible reason - it's really dark there for a while, but we get a sweet ending that makes up for all the ugliness.**


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: Disclaimer - Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. Thank you to trekgeezer, who patiently helps me with suggestions on how to improve my writing! I still take responsibility for whatever you don't like about this story, though. ;)**

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_There is, it seems to us_

_At best, only a limited value_

_In the knowledge derived from experience._

_The knowledge imposes a pattern, and falsifies,_

_For the pattern is new in every moment_

_And every moment is a new and shocking_

_Valuation of all we have been._

_.._

_The only wisdom we can hope to acquire_

_Is the wisdom of humility: humility is endless._

T.S. Eliot: East Coker

**Chapter 21.**

**BPOV**

I haven't set my alarm, since I've resigned myself to the fact that I no longer have the ability to sleep in on weekends as I did back in high school. At 7 a.m. every morning, if not earlier, my eyes fly open to greet the new day, regardless of when I stumbled into bed the night before. It's a blessing and a curse, since I'm not really what you would call a morning person; I just wake up like one.

But this fine Saturday morning, I wake at 8:30, unheard of, and I wake to the sight of a pair of smiling green eyes looking at me, and a warm, masculine body next to mine. He's waiting impatiently for me to wake up so that he can hug me to him, nuzzle my hair and whisper "Good morning Bella."

I moan and stretch, feeling sore in both unexpected and expected places, before I smile at Edward. "When I agreed to sleep with you last night, I wasn't really thinking," I say. Edward's smile falls, so I hasten to add: "What I mean to say is I should have told you right off that I'm not a morning person, I don't get civil until after breakfast. Also, I hate that you get to see me before I splash my face with cold water, moisturize and brush my teeth, so please _pretend_ you're still asleep. And, before you ask, I never, ever want to have sex before breakfast. It's just a rule."

Edward rolls over on his back, throws his arm across his eyes and chuckles at the ceiling. "And here I was debating with myself whether it would be a good idea to wake you up by kissing you all over or if it would be better to just poke my morning wood in your face as a subtle greeting."

I slap his naked chest reproachfully, feeling my old blush rise at his words. I make sure that my panties and t-shirt are back on before I try to climb out of bed, more or less gracefully, to make reparations in the bathroom. But I'm not more than halfway up, when he pounces on me like a lion, and pulls me back to bed. I squeal and he laughs. We roll around until he's got me pinned down on my back where he wants me.

Glaring, I say "Edward", in a tone of warning, "never get between a woman and her bathroom in the morning." Then "Edward!" as he leans down, playfully nudging my nose with his before smothering me with a minty good morning kiss. I see now that he is plainly cheating and must have been up long before me to freshen up and brush his teeth. Pleasant as the kiss is, my bladder is protesting, and me as well.

"Edward, seriously, I need to pee! And you shouldn't kiss me while I still have morning breath, when you've brushed your teeth and everything. It's disgusting." He lets go and rolls off me, smiling.

"Oh, so you think tooth-paste is disgusting? I'll make a note not to brush my teeth anymore."

"Pffft, you know that's not what I meant" I huff, and try to move with some dignity towards the bathroom. Edward lunges one last time and grabs me by the wrist. He ends up hanging upside down, over the side of the bed, so that his messy hair is pulled by gravity into an even more unruly state. I can tell that he's smirking, but his voice is soft as he says:

"Let me tell you Bella, while I may suffer from morning breath and need to get up before you to fix it, you could never taste anything but wonderful … whichever part of you I kiss before breakfast." My heart kind of flips at that, and he lets go of my wrist and rolls around so that he can follow me with his eyes as I exit the room.

I close the bathroom door behind me, and lean towards it, heart thumping. This whole situation is so weird and so wonderful that I want to squeal like a teenage girl! Instead, I pee, wash my hands, splash my face with cold water, and pause for a moment in front of the mirror. I still look too old and too ugly to my own eyes, but my skin is glowing and my eyes are shining, filled with hope. Objectively, I now know that at least _one _gorgeous man in the world is still willing to have sex with me, not once, but several times. I must be doing something right.

I quickly brush my teeth and moisturize. When I walk back into the bedroom, I stop in my tracks at the most astonishing sight. Edward is lying on my bed, naked as far as I can tell, but with a tray placed strategically over his hips. A tray carrying a cup of tea, a glass of orange juice and a bowl of yogurt with fresh fruit – a tray made of wood, no less. His expression can only be described as hopeful.

I can't take it, I start laughing so hard that I end up sitting on the floor with my face in my hands, tears running down my cheeks. "You're mad, Edward!" is all I can utter. Edward remains smiling and unfazed. "Or just very rational and literal-minded," he replies. "You can never really tell. You said no sex before breakfast, remember? Come and get your breakfast served on morning wood; what are you waiting for?"

I sit down gingerly on the bed, and he transfers the tray to my lap, revealing that he is indeed completely naked under it. His cock is at half-mast and every bit of him is just as beautiful as I remembered. I quickly turn my eyes back to my breakfast, sip the tea and pick up my spoon. "Mmm, Edward this looks lovely, thank you."

He is leaning on his elbow, watching me intently, and I just can't look at him. If I do I'll have to kiss him and upend my breakfast on the floor. "There are lovely things to look at over here, too Bella," is his smug remark. I let my hair swing forward, masking my smile from him and the sight of his nakedness from myself.

"I hate to disappoint you Edward, but there may not be any sex _after_ breakfast either. I'm feeling kind of sore." I sneak a peek at him and his expression changes at once to one of concern and … yes, guilt. We can't have that.

"Please don't look like that Edward," I say with emphasis, "It's nothing for you to feel guilty about. I had a wonderful time last night. I'm just a little … eh, out of practice. I need a rest, that's all, then I'll be fine." His face turns thoughtful.

"If you don't mind me asking, how long has it been?" he asks, rolls over to face me, his head resting on his folded arms, and his distractingly beautiful behind on display. Edward is so amazingly comfortable being naked. But then, he looks like a statue of a Greek god; lean, beautifully proportioned, well-built, but not overly muscled. I keep my eyes trained on his face while I think, and start eating my yogurt.

"Hmmm, I don't remember exactly the last time it happened, but James and I didn't have sex for more than a year before the divorce. So, somewhere between 18 months and two years would be a good guess. "

Edward gives me a look of disbelief. "Two years?! How the hell did you not have sex for two whole years?"

I blush and concentrate on my breakfast. "Actually, it's not that hard to go without sex for long periods of time. It helps if you're under stress or otherwise not particularly interested. People still remain virgins until their twenties, and parents with young children often are too exhausted to have sex for months. Lots of people are unable to have sex on a regular basis because they have jobs that keep them isolated for a long time or because they are sick. It's not a big deal. You can still be … a sexual being without actually having sex."

Edward's brow is furrowed. "Yeah, of course I know that, I didn't mean that parts of your body would shrivel up or that you would go crazy if you didn't have sex. I just find it very hard to believe that you were married and didn't have sex. Or, that you didn't have sex with someone else if _he_ wasn't interested. You're a beautiful woman, Bella, and you're very warm and responsive. I would imagine that you'd have to beat men off with a stick if they knew you were available."

I snort. I can't help it, even though I get yogurt up my nose. When I start coughing, Edward is immediately by my side, rubbing my back, handing me a napkin, and as the coughing subsides I wipe my face and sip my tea, grateful that at least I didn't upend my tray.

"Could you please put some clothes on?" I beg him. "It's a wonderful view, but also completely distracting." He picks up some boxers and a pair of shorts off the floor and complies with my wishes, then sits down beside me on the bed.

"Look, James and I were maybe not a good match to begin with, and sexually, I don't think we were ever that compatible. We had sex, of course, more in the beginning when we met, but sex wasn't always a big deal in our marriage. At least, that's what I thought. I guess that's why I didn't brood too much about it when it sort of slowly stopped happening. I just thought that he'd lost interest." I swallow. Maybe I made him lose interest in me? I still feel somehow at fault.

"There were times when I wondered if he had other women, but since I never had any proof and he denied it and called me paranoid and jealous when I asked him, I sort of believed him. Now I'm not so sure. And anyway, it doesn't matter, because we're through." I pick up the tray and lower it to the floor. I've lost my appetite.

"As to your question about other men, no, I was always faithful to James. I suppose I'm kind of old-fashioned in some ways. I think marriage should be a commitment, something you take seriously. Actually, I was reluctant to marry him at first when he proposed, because I thought it was too soon, and marriage seemed like this huge thing." I sigh and lean back against the headboard, and Edward puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me in. Maybe he senses the sadness in me.

"And I've never, ever had to use a stick to beat men off," I snort. "I don't know if you've noticed, but you're the only guy hanging around and calling me beautiful. It's not a common occurrence. I guess that just shows what exclusive taste you've got!" I try to smile up at him, but my smile kind of fails.

Edward's expression is unreadable, but he leans down and kisses me gently, which I guess is all the answer I'm ever going to get from the universe. Bella Swan was a failure, but we decided she needed some ego-boosting in the latter part of her life, so we dropped this nice guy, who also needed a break, in her lap. Let them help each other out.

"So, is there anything in your sexual history you think I should know about? Girlfriends? Fiancées? Wives?" I keep my tone of voice light. Although this is something I sort of want to know, I'm not sure what he's prepared to share about himself. It seems like he's a booby-trapped house, and I don't know what might set him off.

I feel him tense slightly, then he shrugs and sighs, flexing his legs as if to ease some of the tension. "There's not much to tell. I've dated, I've had sex. I haven't had any long-term girlfriends. So far, I haven't ever come close to the engagement-and-marriage-part. I don't even know if I'm good relationship material." He smirks at me. "But I'm willing to test it out, as long as you'll have me. At least you know I can clean and cook, right?"

I hesitate. "This may sound harsh, but were you ever tested for STDs?" I ask. "It's just, people tend to sleep around a lot in college, and may pick up something without knowing it. I've basically only slept with one person, though I had myself tested a couple of times, at my gynecologist's suggestion, just to be sure."

Edward gets this clouded look, as if he's shutting himself off, but then he says in a low voice. "Yeah, I was tested about six months ago, and came up clean, and I haven't been with anyone after that. But if it's something you want me to do, Bella, I'm okay with it. Only, I don't know where to get a doctor's appointment, and I can't use my social security number."

I immediately feel bad. "No, of course not, I wasn't thinking, and please don't take this the wrong way. But, if I manage to arrange for you to be tested, would that be okay? There's no hurry, it's just that, at some point, we would maybe want to have unprotected sex, and that takes some preparations, you know?"

Suddenly, Edward's face lights up. "Do you mean that? Are you already planning how to have unprotected sex with me, even though we've just had sex for the first time?" He touches my face with his warm hand, looking deep into my eyes. "That means you're serious about this, about us, doesn't it?"

I don't know where to look. I've forgotten how to breathe, but somehow I find the guts to speak. "Well, since you now know that I've only been with one man before in my life, I guess that tells you that I'm kind of exclusive, too. If I'm with you now, it's not about casual sex. I know it's … complicated, but I want this to be about more than sex. So, yeah, I've thought about it. And I take this seriously. I take you seriously." I draw back, looking down in my lap, twisting the sheet between my fingers, because it's unbearable to look him in the eye any longer. "Yeah, so now you know."

But Edward is unrelenting. His hands are cradling my face and he forces me to look up at him. His face is completely serious when he says: "Bella, please believe me, I take this seriously too. I've never felt more comfortable around another human being than I do with you. I find you exciting and funny and sexy as hell. And I want this to work, for as long as that's possible, even though I know that it's complicated, too."

I smile, and then I giggle. Edward raises his eyebrows and I hasten to add. "I'm not laughing at you, not at all, it's just … talking of marriage, it felt like we sort of exchanged vows there for a minute."

Edward smiles too. "Yeah, the "I-promise-to-take-you-seriously"-vow. Oh, wow, I guess nothing says 'commitment' like discussing love without a glove, right?" And this silly comment has me breaking down in giggles. Soon we're rolling around the bed wrestling and tickling each other, which leads to kissing and making out. Soon we're both panting, and I call attention to the fact that we're _not _going to make love just yet, and I need to get out of bed to wash up. Edward pouts a little bit, but scoots off to the kitchen with the breakfast tray while I make the bed and freshen myself up.

The day unfolds, and it's a weird feeling, because in one way nothing has changed. We're sharing the house, doing the normal things we do every day. I do yoga, only this time Edward watches me, and tries to do yoga, too. He fails miserably to hold the positions because he says his 'excitement for yoga' gets the better of him, (meaning his hard-on gets in the way!).

Being with him like this is completely new. I look at him, and feel that it's all slightly surreal. This beautiful, funny, troubled young man _wants_ me. Me. It somehow sparks the wish to work harder, to be a better woman, and then maybe I can deserve him. I take this burst of energy out in my yoga, ending up with muscles burning and every limb trembling, and it's a good feeling.

Edward gives up on yoga and starts preparing lunch while I finish, then lock myself in the bathroom to take a shower. Somehow I still feel anxious at the thought that Edward might walk in on me while I'm naked in the bathroom. I want to control the way I present myself to him, although I know that intimacy means I am losing some of my control and will inevitably lose more. I have given him access to my body, and I think I am slowly but surely losing my heart, too. My heart rate picks up as I think about how wrong I am to draw him in, and in how many ways this can end badly - for both of us.

When I return to the kitchen, Edward is busy making a salad.

"Hey, do you like olives, Bella?" His expression is anxious.

"Yes, I love them. What are we having?" When I get closer, he absentmindedly snakes his arm around my waist, pulling me into his body, as if it's the most natural thing in the world to do. He buries his nose in my hair and inhales deeply.

"God, you always smell so good! I love your hair before you shower even more, though, because then it's all you. What is this, strawberry shampoo?" I blush a little.

"Yeah, it is. I keep buying the same stuff out of habit, you know? Although Rose is always pressing her salon product on me, telling me it does wonderful things to her hair." I snort. "As if her hair was ever anything but gorgeous, no matter what shampoo she uses!"

Edward smiles and runs his hand along my pony tail. "I've always been partial to brunettes myself. Never understood the noise about blondes having all the fun. I love your hair, Bella, it's silky and really pretty." Hello blush, my old friend …

"Thank you. And now will you tell me what this is?" I gesture to the bowl on the counter. Edward rubs his neck and looks doubtful.

"Well, it's sort of a Californian improvisation on a Greek salad. You'll find the feta cheese and the olives in there, but none of the onion or green peppers, because, frankly, those are gross. And then I added avocado and cherry tomatoes because I like them and because that's what I found lying around. And I heated some of those rolls from the freezer, too. Okay?"

I smile at him and give his middle a brief squeeze before I go get the plates. "Just great, thank you. I'll just add some olive oil and vinegar and we're all set."

Edward wolfs down more than half the salad and all the rolls. This makes me wonder if I should buy more turkey, ham and tuna. This self-imposed vegetarianism is hardly healthy for a young man with his athletic build. We chat about our plans for Sunday. Edward will be working, but I will get things ready for Rose's self-invite to barbecue with the man himself, Emmett McCarthy. Then, we'll eat when Edward gets home.

"So, how is that going, by the way?" Edward raises his eyebrows at me, and I can't help but roll my eyes.

"Don't ask. Rose is obviously hot and bothered but doesn't want to let on. I bet she's been calling Emmett 24/7 on all kinds of pretexts, otherwise she wouldn't have staged this whole chaperoned date with us as witnesses. Normally, Rose just goes for what she wants, no frills. This time, I don't know, maybe she cares more about him than she should …"

Edward smiles at me across the table, his eyes bright with merriment. "Don't tell me she's in love?"

I scowl at him. "Don't make fun of Rose. She may be a little brash, but she's really sensitive at heart, and she's met her fair share of assholes. I'm only worried because this guy seems all brawn and no brains, and if there's something Rose doesn't need, it's another immature, overgrown boy who only sees her as his shiny new toy."

I don't really know why I get all worked up like this. I'm sure that Rose is able to look out for herself, but she seemed so bright eyed and girlish behind her disinterested façade yesterday. I don't want that bumbling giant to break her bed just before he breaks her heart.

Edward puts his hand over mine where it rests on the table, and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

"I'm not laughing at Rose; I think it's a match made in heaven. Those two could probably break down a whole house in their epic fights, and then he'd build it up again, just so they could have fun demolishing it one more time. I think Rose is awesome. Emmett McCarthy won't know what hit him."

I smile back at him. "Yeah, I hope you're right. We'll be there to witness the experiment as it evolves tomorrow, anyway."

Edward sits up a little straighter, and captures my hand in both of his large ones, clearing his throat.

"Which brings me to another thing, Bella. What do you think we should tell them, about us I mean?"

I feel cold. Of course I knew somewhere in the back of my mind that we would reach this question at some point. I just didn't realize it would have to be so soon. I look at Edward's face, trying to take my cue from him, but his expression is neutral. Obviously, he's wondering too, but he's too polite to say what he's thinking before I do.

"I'm not sure" I blurt out. "What are we?"

His expression is still careful but I imagine I see a bit of disappointment in his eyes. Did he expect me to make the leap first and put myself out there?

"Are you okay with _girlfriend,_ or is that assuming too much?" His eyes are guarded but his mouth curls up in a small, hopeful smile.

I feel my face heat up. I'd never been anyone's girlfriend, until I met James, and he never asked, just decided that I was, all on his own.

"I feel a little old to be someone's girlfriend, but I don't know what the alternatives are. Would I be your lover? Woman? Partner?" No term feels right. But there is a connection between us, that's undeniable. I just don't know how to label it.

"But do you really think we have to make some sort of declaration?" I say, feeling a bit desperate. "Couldn't we just, I don't know, leave it up to them to ask if they want to know?"

Edward looks down at our hands, circling the back of mine with his thumb. "I didn't mean we had to make some kind of announcement. I just need to know how I should act when there are other people around; if you want me to act like I'm just your house guest, or not."

Watching his careful composure breaks my heart in so many ways. For one thing, he obviously would be willing to hold back and pretend in front of others, if that's what I want. Also, it seems maybe _he_ wants to tell the world about us, but at the same time, he still doubts how I feel about him. I'm torn. The truth is, I feel more than I think I should, but I'm not ready to use the l -word. I want to reassure him, but on the other hand, I just don't know if I'm ready to give him that kind of power over me.

"Edward, please look at me." He looks up, and his beautiful green gaze makes my heart ache. "I don't know what this is yet," I gesture between us, "but whatever it is, we are in it together, and you are so much more than a house guest. I don't want to pretend in front of others. If anyone _asks,_ I would be happy to call you my boyfriend, but until it's really necessary I would like to keep it private. I'm not comfortable with a lot of PDA, if you understand what I mean? And I'm hoping there won't be a whole lot of people asking, since I'm sort of a private person, okay?"

His sudden smile dazzles me and I blink. Before I know it, he's out of his seat, moves around the table and scoops me up into his arms, nuzzling my cheek, whispering; "I'd love to have you for my girlfriend, Bella." And a big, silly grin erupts across my face, in spite of all my misgivings.

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**A/N: So this was an interlude, to let Bella and Edward catch up with what's happened between them. Coming up now is some action with Rose and Emmett. A big thank you to every one of you who reads, and everyone who's helped me with reviews, comments and PMs! I reply to everyone, as long as you're logged in and receive PMs. xoxo**


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Disclaimer - Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. Trekgeezer did an awesome job editing this, as usual, and managed to get it back to me early to top it off! Hope you'll enjoy this!**

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_I wanna get in the ring just for the view_

_A few wild stabs and a kiss_

_And then scram like a king dismissed_

_The whole world is a set upon which we're projected_

_It's hocus-pocus, we're in frame_

_Though hardly ever in focus for long_

_I keep on, keep getting it wrong_

_I was raised a man, I'm fighting it_

_But I ain't as strong as I seem_

_Though, in my dreams,_

_I've got the queers and the queens_

_With their peers on the same team_

_Scheming the schemes_

_To be the cocaine in your cola_

_The steroids in your cow_

_The dolphin in your tuna_

_Guess all the punks in the world can't save me now_

David Sandstrom: Cocaine in your Cola

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**Chapter 22.**

**EPOV**

When the alarm goes off early Sunday morning, I quickly smother it and roll out of bed, careful not to wake Bella. I want to stay right there, snuggle into her side and inhale her incredible Bella-fragrance. I want to run my hands along her soft curves over and under her t-shirt and shorts, but not as much as I want to let her sleep. So I kiss her hair, gather my clothes and slip out into the hallway to go shower and dress in the bathroom.

We stayed up late last night talking in my bed, touching and softly kissing, not ready to let sleep part us. We spent the latter part of the day walking on the beach, going for a quick run and then watching a movie, which turned into making out on the sofa. Before long we were both hot and breathing heavily, and decided to move to the bedroom.

Now, I'm realizing what it would be like to be a couple, to really be together with someone. This feeling of not getting enough of Bella - wanting to touch her all the time, talk to her and listen to her thoughts - it's addictive.

Bella is still adorably shy, and says she doesn't want me to see her naked. I try to make her understand with words and touches that every part of her I see is perfect, that _she_ is perfect, to me.

She was obviously still sore from our lovemaking, but like me, too horny to care This made me feel guilty. I spent a lot of time nestled under the sheets, languidly worshipping her with my mouth. Finally, she cried out and came on my tongue, with her hands tangled in my hair.

I'm so proud I can make her feel like this. Her sounds of pleasure make my spine tingle and I become almost painfully hard for her. I just can't get enough.

And then she went down on me, although I told her she didn't have to. My heart almost stopped when she paused, kissing her way down my body, and looked up at me with a slow smile. "But Edward, I really, really want to taste you too." Well, fuck me.

Watching her with her mouth wrapped around my cock, seeing it glide between her luscious lips was, I don't know, pornographic and completely wrong, yet so right and a total turn-on, all at the same time. She is so sweet and serious, and then she turns my head upside down with her raw and honest desire for me. She becomes this sex goddess I don't recognize. It all makes me fall for her even harder. One day soon, I will persuade Bella to sleep naked with me, because I don't want anything to come between me and her soft fragrant, skin.

I feel a little bad leaving her alone to prepare for the Rose-and-Emmett onslaught this afternoon. She has assured me that she's okay with preparing the food and drinks on her own, and that Rose will bring all the carnivore favorites she craves for herself and Emmett. To be honest, I know I kind of long for a juicy steak myself. I haven't minded sticking to mostly vegetarian food under Bella's roof, but I can't lie; I love meat, too.

When I get to the café, I'm the first one to arrive, and I do what I always do when I open up. I mop the floor, take down the chairs, start up the machines and make sure all cups and supplies are stacked. Next, I set up the chairs and tables on the patio, and wipe off any moisture or bird droppings.

Carmen turns up with Kate at opening time, and we have a quiet half hour before people start dropping in for brunch. The sun's out, and the air smells incredibly fresh and sweet when I step outside later to collect dishes and wipe tables. For a minute I long to be outdoors camping with my family again. We used to divide our vacations between the family summer house on the coast of Rhode Island, skiing in Colorado in the winter, and hiking in various national parks. That is, until our family fell apart. As we kids grew up, the problems escalated. It's been years now since we spent a holiday together.

When I push past Carmen to restack the carry-out mugs behind the counter, she casually touches my hair, which is falling into my eyes again.

"Don't you think it's time to cut this? Or are you like Samson, certain that your power to charm resides in your hair?" She smirks at me, and I frown back at her, playing along.

"Hey, Delilah, keep your hands to yourself or I just might bring the roof down around your pretty little head. My manly powers are not dependent on any one part of my anatomy, but are an effect of my dazzling personality - just so you know."

"Oh, so there's no special part of your _anatomy _you would say demonstrates your 'manly powers' as you put it?" Carmen's eyes glitter, and I can tell she's on the brink of breaking into her deep, rich laugh. She raises her eyebrows and makes meaningful eyes at my crotch.

I squirm. "Ouch, Carmen! I'm sure that comment constitutes sexual harassment. I'll tell Kate if you don't stop. Keep your hands _and_ your dirty thoughts to yourself, please!"

Carmen is laughing now, and leaning on the counter. I playfully scowl at her as I make my way back to the kitchen to see if Kate needs any help getting the orders out.

Kate has told me how she started out as a chef after graduation. She worked everywhere, including small, Italian places and brief stints at gourmet restaurants until she had the experience and the backing she needed to make something of this place. I asked her if she wanted something more ambitious, like the chefs you see on TV competing to impress with their culinary skills, eager to get a position in a prestige restaurant. Kate just shook her head.

"Nah, I saw too much of the pecking order in those fancy places. Everyone's busting their ass, more or less, and there's usually some asshole aiming to put you down. I've always loved breakfast, and there's nothing better than a really good café where you can get your favorite breakfast food any time of day, and where you know the coffee is good and the staff is friendly. Plus, I always wanted to be close to the beach." She smiled at me. "And since I can't afford a beach property yet, this is just perfect."

Now, Kate looks up at me, her face flushed, as I walk in the door.

"Hey, Edward, you're just in time. Can you finish these plates for me? One blueberry pancakes, two omelets, one with ham and one vegetarian. Why are you pouting?"

I shrug. "It's nothing. Carmen is just trying to get a rise out of me by disrespecting my hair."

Kate looks over at me, before reaching for the pancake batter and checking the two order slips pinned to the wall. She makes awesome pancakes, even better than Jim; I know, because I've tried them.

"You should get it cut, though. I probably shouldn't allow you in the kitchen without a cap when it looks like that. You're a walking health hazard. Who knows where that hair's been?"

I groan, getting the salad greens and berries with whipped cream on the right plates. "Alright, I promise I'll fix it, okay?" My mind briefly flickers to where my hair has recently been, but that's okay because I showered this morning. I come back from my brief sex reverie to find Kate's eyes on me again.

"What now?" I ask, flustered.

"Nothing. You seem different this morning, that's all. Lighter, maybe. Did you have a good weekend so far?" She casually turns back to flipping pancakes, adding some strawberry pieces to the mix.

I turn my back, picking up the plates, so that I can hide my smile. "Yeah, it was good. I'll just take these out now before they get cold, okay?" And I breeze through the door and hand the plates to Carmen, who adds toast to the omelets before delivering them to the right table. When she returns she smiles at me.

"Sorry about harassing you before, Edward. Let me make it up to you by cutting your hair before you leave, okay?"

I look at her, doubtful. "What, you cut hair, too?"

She adjusts her apron and folds her arms across her chest. I briefly wonder if she does it to emphasize her attractive cleavage, but I push that thought aside. Carmen isn't like that.

"Sure, I've been cutting my family's hair these past fifteen years. No need to pay for a haircut that you can do yourself. I happen to have my scissors and the hair clipper in my bag. I'm going over to a girlfriend's house after work to cut her boys' hair. What do you say?" She smirks at me, her dark eyes glittering.

I look at her own hair, which is shiny black and silver, wavy and long, but I realize that this doesn't give me a clue as to what she can do with mine. A haircut would be nice, though. I sigh and throw out my hands.

"Sure, thank you Carmen. That would be good. Just, don't give me a buzz cut or anything, alright? I still prefer my hair on the long side, just so you know."

Carmen laughs, and briefly touches my hair, which is falling into my eyes again. "Don't worry, I won't cut the mojo out of your hair, big boy. Let's do it out back around three, or whenever there's a lull. That way we won't have to sweep up all the hair from the floor." She turns to take an order from a family of four who just walked in.

A couple of hours later, I sit on a chair in the shade outside the back door. I have towels draped around my shoulders and Carmen is walking around me, snipping at my hair. The fact that there's no mirror makes me kind of nervous. The length of the hair I see lying on the ground is longer than I'd like it to be. I try to focus on the fact that I am getting a much-needed haircut for free, and that Carmen is a good friend to do this for me.

Five minutes into the haircut, Kate hollers from the kitchen for some help. Carmen excuses herself and leaves me sitting there. I don't know what to do, and the minutes stretch by interminably. Finally, exasperated, I fling off the towels and try to brush off the excess hair from my clothes. I hurry into the café to see what's taking so long.

Of course, suddenly we have a bunch of people coming in for a late lunch. Carmen is busy taking orders and making drinks, while Kate is whipping up omelets and heating quiche in the kitchen. I sullenly accept her peals of laughter when she discovers I have half a haircut I then go wash my hands and don my apron again before helping her put together plates of Caesar salad.

It's another hour before Carmen can finish my haircut. Meanwhile, I refuse to go look in a mirror to find out exactly why the customers are looking at me so strangely. I just don't want to know. I only hope I won't have to face Rosalie Hale tonight looking like a complete moron.

Carmen is still smiling when she puts the finishing touches on the sides of my hair declaring me open for the public. She brushes the hair from the back of my shirt, but I can still feel it tickle on my skin uncomfortably. I long for a shower to wash it all off.

"So, go look in a mirror and tell me what you think; do you still have your power to charm?" Carmen asks me.

I narrow my eyes at her. "I hope you didn't play some practical joke on me, like giving me a Mohawk! Then I would have to return the favor by dipping you in pancake batter! Of course, then I'd probably lose my job." She just laughs at me and slaps my back before returning to her place behind the counter.

I quickly lock myself in the bathroom to wash my face and hands. When I look in the mirror I am briefly stunned. I look neat. Not only neat, I look handsome. I turn my head around from side to side to get a better look. It's shorter than I usually wear it. The sides and back are closely cut but the top layered and longer. It makes me look like a movie star from an old movie. All that's missing is the tux! I smile. I hope this will help convince Rosalie that I'm a good catch as a "lodger turned boyfriend." My smile falls.

I feel guilty when I think of Rosalie telling me not to fuck up and not to take advantage of Bella. Maybe that's what I'm doing, tricking her into becoming my girlfriend. If she knew more about me, she probably wouldn't let me touch her. I look down to see my hands curling around the sides of the wash basin until my knuckles turn white. I can't say no to Bella. If she'll have me, I'm hers, for as long as she wants me. I'll just live this dream one day at the time, holding on as long as I can.

When I take off for the day Carmen smiles and waves at me as I thank her one more time for the haircut. The afternoon sun is warm, and I walk quickly, enjoying the breeze from the ocean, looking at all the people in their pretty summer clothes. I remember my cell phone in my pocket and take it out to look at it. No messages. Figures. The only people in the world who might have called me would have been Kate and Bella, and I've been with Kate most of the day. I smile as I think of all the possibilities: when I'm at work I could text Bella and make myself a part of her day that way. Maybe I'll send her a fragment of a sonnet? Or, would that just seem pretentious and stupid?

I picked up that book on an impulse at the second-hand store I pass by on my way home from work. I've found some okay men's shirts there at bargain prices, and it's always fun to look through their selection of used books. They cost almost nothing. I've picked up some paperbacks before, Roth, De Lillo, stuff I like. When I found the small battered volume of "Shakespeare's Sonnets," it made me think of Bella, so I bought it for a buck.

I only read a couple of his plays in school, "Romeo and Juliet," "Hamlet." I had a really great English teacher who made me feel that Shakespeare knew what he was doing, despite all that weird, flowery language that forced you to look words up all the time. "Romeo and Juliet" was not the fluffy romance people had made me think. It was about desire and wanting someone so much your body and heart ache, and you feel she's in your blood. And "Hamlet" was raw and sarcastic, about waking up to the reality of the adult world and finding it dark and sleazy. I could relate to Hamlet more than Romeo at the time. I've never been in love like that, and I've never been good with romantic gestures, so I wouldn't know what women like. I never had to work for it or think about it before, but now I want to.

In grade school, I was unnoticed and had very few friends. I made good grades and moved on the fringes. I wasn't popular but neither completely shut out. Something happened when I turned fifteen. I grew into a young man's body in only six months and started working out. All kinds of girls suddenly started flirting with me, without me even trying, and I started making new, cool friends. Jon was one of them. That's not a time I like to think of now. I thought I was free, coming into my own. I rebelled against the responsibilities other people had put upon me and grabbed my chance at enjoying life. What I was really doing was paving the road to hell for myself and others.

Suddenly the day feels colder around me, and I hurry on, fighting back a creeping feeling of dread. What if Bella were to learn about the real me from someone else? What if Rosalie has connections with the police and by some strange coincidence runs across something, a warrant for my arrest or a missing person flyer? I realize that I owe Bella some part of the truth, now more than ever, and I vow to make time to sit down and talk to her, soon.

When I get back to the house, I don't bother ringing the door bell, because I can see Rosalie's red sports car and Emmett McCarthy's SUV sitting outside. I'm sure the best thing is for me to shower and change as quickly as possible so I can give Bella a hand in the kitchen.

When I walk in the door, Bella comes hurrying towards me, a panicked expression on her face. My heart lurches in my chest.

"What's wrong, Bella? Has something happened?"

"No, no, nothing's wrong except Rosalie won't leave me alone for a minute." Bella scowls. The way she grips my arms for support tells me that she's actually anxious, and trying to calm down. I smile and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Now I notice what she's wearing; a new boldly patterned sleeveless dress that clings to her curves, and a pair of heels I've never seen before. She looks exquisite and extremely sexy.

"You look lovely, by the way. I've never seen that dress before. Is it new?"

Bella makes a face and bites her lip, looking down at herself, and I realize that she is actually tottering a little bit because of her heels.

"I swear, sometimes Rosalie thinks that she's my mother. She bought me this dress and then she wouldn't stop bullying me until I went and put it on for her. I feel really uncomfortable, and these shoes are killing me! Please distract her for a minute while I find myself a sweater, will you? I feel naked in this." She looks up at me, her dark eyes pleading, and I know I can't say no to her.

I lean down and give her a soft kiss on the cheek, before taking her arm and guiding her carefully to her bedroom door. Once she's inside, I straighten up and brace myself for seeing Rosalie again.

Our last meeting was okay, but the lady scares me. It's not just her shrewd search-light blue eyes that feel as if they could bore holes through my skull, nor the fact that she's a lawyer, who's a hundred times smarter and fiercer than me. It's the fact that she is Bella's friend, looking out for Bella. And I feel so conflicted, because I want to look out for Bella, too, yet at the same time, kick myself out of the house for being bad for Bella. We're on the same side, and yet not.

I see Rosalie as I enter the kitchen. There are bowls with stuff on the counter, cutting boards and vegetables; obviously Bella had been preparing for a veggie cookout when she was ambushed by her friend. Rosalie smirks at me, looking stunning as usual in a red sundress and strappy sandals.

"So where did you hide Bella? I was just going to fix her hair for her, but then she ran away." Rosalie calls over my shoulder into the hall, "Don't be such a scaredy-cat Bella! You look beautiful in that dress; now just let me curl your hair for you!"

I try to block her way not-too-subtly by stepping in her path and pointing over her shoulder to the patio. "So, is Emmett here already? Did you try lighting up the grill yet?" She smiles up at me, and I can tell she knows exactly what's going on.

"Knight in shining armor, I take it? Edward to the rescue? Oh, well, you saw her, right? Don't tell me our Bella isn't pretty in a dress and heels? It's too bad she insists on dressing herself down. Since this past winter, I swear it's gotten worse than ever! Tell me honestly: when you see her on weekdays, how often does she wear her signature jeans, Chucks and hoodies?"

I clear my throat. "I don't think that's the point. Bella is an adult. She can wear whatever she feels comfortable in. And for the record, I think Bella looks lovely no matter what she's wearing." That's honest at least, though I really think she'd look best without clothes. That's not something I'm going to tell Rosalie. I hold my smile back. I don't know how Bella wants to play this yet, so I'm not going to do my little victory dance around the kitchen singing "I'm sleeping with Bella! I'm Bella's boyfriend!" Maybe it's better if we keep up the tenant-landlady charade for a bit longer, and try to win Rosalie over a bit more first?

Rosalie shrugs and heads towards the living room. "Good answer, Edward, but I'm not giving in. I know for a fact that you like to see a woman in skirts and heels just like the next guy. You're just too polite to say so. Never mind, I'll take her away one of these weekends for a spa experience. She'll have her hair and nails done, and then you'll get to see what she looks like when she gives a hoot." For a second her eyes are sad as she turns to me. "Bella can wear whatever she damn well pleases. I just hate to see her hiding under a rock like this. You seem like a normal guy, why don't you take her out dancing or something? Make her realize that she can be around people without the ceiling falling down on her head."

I follow her towards the open doors to the deck, avoiding her gaze. "I would love to take Bella out, but I think it's up to her to decide whether she wants to or not. I'm letting her call the shots, I'm just a guest here."

Rosalie huffs in exasperation and shrugs her shoulders. "Whatever, Edward. It wouldn't kill you to try – I'm sure you're a big boy and can take a no." Her voice changes as we walk outside. Emmett's huge bulk is huddled over the grill, where a couple of steaks are starting to sizzle. He straightens up and I see the ridiculous apron he's got on. "I'm the chef – He's the chief" with an arrow pointing down across his flat stomach. Classy.

"Hey, how's it going big guy?" Rosalie turns to me with a sunny smile. "You two have already met: Edward – Emmett. How about you take care of cooking the meat, and I'll try to deflect Bella's attempts to drown us in salad and tofu?"

"Actually, why don't you two meat-eaters make sure the meat is undercooked enough? I'll help Bella, since I know my way around the kitchen by now," I counter, since I don't want Rosalie breathing down Bella's neck again.

Emmett grins at me and waves with a big knife in his hand. "Hiya, Edward my man! I put some beers in the fridge, why don't you bring us some out here where the action is? Rose, I think Edward's right. I need your culinary expertise on cooking these steaks. What do you say, should we add some nice sausages to the mix, too?" He winks at her, and she bumps his shoulder playfully.

I grin at him, and back out the way I just came. Fine, as long as they're together I think Rosalie is sufficiently distracted.

When I get back to the kitchen, Bella is there, still in heels and dress, but she has an oversized white cardigan on top with the arms rolled up. Her long hair is twisted into a messy bun at the top of her head. She looks pink and busy, and I just love the sight of the nape of her neck, where I long to bury my nose in her sweet-smelling hair. I tentatively put my arms around her middle from behind and do just that, brushing the soft skin of her neck with my lips.

"Hey, beautiful, what can I do to help you out before I go take a shower?" I see a blush creeping up from below the cardigan, and I can tell Bella is turning an even deeper pink. I let her go as she twists around in my arms and looks up at me.

"It's fine, Edward. Now that you've got Rose out of my hair I can manage. I've made some hummus, a bean and cheese dip that goes with nachos and salsa, potato salad, coleslaw and a green salad. I'm going to fry up some soya sausages, in case you don't want to share the meat that Emmett brought?"

I can't hold my smile back. "I hope you don't mind if I share a meal with the meat eaters, Bella. No offense, but I haven't had steak in a really, really long time."

Bella smiles back at me and shrugs her shoulders. "That's fine. I've been sharing my home with meat eaters all my life, after all." She looks more serious, and adds as an afterthought. "Really, Edward, you can eat whatever you want, I don't mind. I've told you we can shop for whatever you feel like. I hope you don't think that you have to abstain just for me?" She frowns accusingly up at me, and my smile grows wider. Fierce Bella, I love that.

"No way, I'm not planning to abstain in any way whatsoever, don't you worry!" I nudge her hip playfully with mine, and pull her forward. I have the satisfaction of seeing her blush yet again.

Which brings me to something I need to ask her. "Bella, were you planning on telling Rosalie anything about what's been happening between us, or do you want to keep it on the quiet side for now?"

I can tell by the look on her face that's she's been thinking about the same thing again, but just didn't know how to bring it up. She sort of squirms under my hands, but doesn't pull away.

"I'm not sure. On the one hand, I'm sure Rosalie would be ecstatic to hear of anything remotely resembling me dating, but on the other hand … you don't know Rose. She can be unpredictable, and even if she approves, there might be merciless teasing. I don't know if I'm up for that. You don't mind, do you?" She looks at me with those doe eyes, sad and embarrassed, and I know I can never say no to her.

"Of course not. It's fine. I don't need a ring, Bella, and I don't need anyone to know. We'll do this however you're comfortable doing it, okay?" I tentatively trace her cheek with my fingers, marveling at that sweet line and the softness of her skin again. She nods, and gives me a small smile.

"Run off and take that shower, I don't need you here right now. But if you hear me shrieking, you'd better come running. That means Rose has gotten her hands on me and I need your help to get her off me."

"Okay. Will you give Emmett a beer? He asked me, and I don't want to disappoint him, he's so big." I smile and I kiss the tip of her nose. I want to do a whole lot more, but respectful of her wishes, I take myself off to the bathroom to freshen up before dinner.

Wrapped in a towel, I walk back to my room. The mouthwatering smell of meat cooking on the grill drifts in from the deck. I hear voices outside, but they sound mellow and friendly. I guess that means there is a truce on the whole clothes issue.

In my room, I pull out a clean shirt, along with some new underwear and socks. I smile as I think about doing laundry, and what laundry led to last time. I can't believe my good luck right now, and I'm not about to challenge anything Bella says. I've had my fair share of sexual experiences in the past, but I've never been in an actual relationship before. It's not that there weren't opportunities, but more because I was an asshole; too immature to want one.

Quite frankly, the girls I hooked up with were shallow like myself and we failed to hold each other's interest for more than two dates. Or, they were unintentional, brief, meaningless fucks that happened when we were all drunk. I look at myself in the mirror absentmindedly as I button my shirt. With a chill, I realize that I haven't had a meaningful relationship in my whole life; except maybe those with my family. And I questioned those all the time. Maybe I don't deserve to be in a real relationship, or maybe I'm just incapable. I don't know. Is it possible I've changed?

When I return, the table is set outside and they all seem to be relaxing, waiting for me to arrive. Emmett and Rosalie are eyeing each other over their drinks, and Bella is a little off to the side, nursing a glass of white wine.

"There you are!" Emmett exclaims. He jumps up to hand me a beer, without asking if I want one. "Took you a hell of a long time to wash your hair, pretty boy. I'm starving over here." He bumps my shoulder with his free hand, and even though I try to dodge it, hell, that shit hurts! I make a face and take a chair next to Bella. I taste my ice cold beer. The cool, bitter taste is delicious on my tongue after a long day on my feet. Bella looks at me with a new expression.

"Your hair, Edward, I didn't realize; it's so different. Did you get a haircut today?"

I self-consciously drag my hands through my damp hair, still surprised at how short it feels now.

"Yeah. Carmen, one of the women who works at the diner, helped cut it for me. She does that a lot for people she knows, apparently, so she offered to do mine. What do you think? Is it too short?" I look to Bella for an answer, but Rosalie replies first.

"No, you look good in that style. It's a little, I don't know, preppy maybe, but it works for you." She smiles at me and her smile is arch. "So did you have to pay her, or did she do it out of the goodness of her heart?" I don't know, but her voice implies that sexual favors were involved, and I don't like it. I take another swig of beer before replying, keeping my voice neutral.

"Carmen is a nice woman, and I guess you could say she did it out of the goodness of her heart. Or maybe it was because Kate threatened to fire me as a health hazard if I didn't cut it pronto. I definitely didn't have to pay for it, anyway."

My comment has Emmett laughing, and Rosalie smiles, a nice smile this time. I look back at Bella.

"So what do you think? Okay? Will you stand to look at me in the mornings?"

Bella looks serious, but her reply is soft. "You look much better than okay, Edward. But then, you looked good before, too. Should we eat now?"

Emmett whoops, and that's all that's needed for everyone to dig in. I pile my plate with salads and meat, and once I get the first piece of steak in my mouth, I almost moan. It's that good.

Emmett wiggles his eyebrows at me. "Good, huh? It's my own special recipe. Hope you enjoy it. I don't do this for just anyone you know? But Rosalie Hale here is some lady. She's been on our asses for a week, calling constantly and asking about what we're doing. But since we did an awesome job, she's repaying me for all the hassle by asking me out to dinner. Ow! What?" He cries out as Rosalie stands up and leans over to smack him on the back of his head. She picks up the coleslaw and sits down again.

"I did not ask you out for dinner, Emmett McCarthy. I asked you to come over and prove to us that this thing really works. I wouldn't want to find out that it's all a piece of crap when you're already miles away, cashing in that hefty check with my hard-earned money".

Emmett rubs his head and mutters. "Well it's not a piece of shit, and it does take a lot of money and hard work to create something genuine like this in so short a time. And you did so ask me out to dinner. I just decided to help out by bringing the meat, is all." He winces, expecting another slap, but Rosalie eats on serenely, shrugging.

"Suit yourself. You're just a big hungry bear, that's all, and you were probably starved for some female company and some home-cooked steak." She smirks at him, her cool blue eyes sparkling.

Emmett shakes his head slowly and regretfully adds. "Can't argue with you there. The bear sure was hungry." He grins, and his grin is infectious. "And he sure likes the company. Cheers!" Then he lifts his bottle and chugs down the whole thing in one big noisy gulp, like an anaconda swallowing a goat. Rose groans quietly and Bella stares at him, shocked.

I mentally roll my eyes, and focus on eating quietly and slowly, even if I would prefer to dig in and stuff my face like an eager boy. I see that Bella is picking at the food on her plate, as usual, but she has loaded up with soya sausage, greens, potato salad, and half a glass of Chardonnay, and it's all slowly but surely disappearing into her mouth. I've never understood the deal with girls who won't eat and constantly complain about their looks. Bella doesn't seem vain, quite the opposite, and I've never heard her complain about anything. Maybe she's just a health freak, but sometimes I think she's overdoing it.

As if she could feel my thoughts like a caress on her skin, she looks up at me and smiles. It's a hesitant, sweet smile that makes me want to lift her from her chair and kiss her in front of everybody. I know I shouldn't. I just smile back at her and raise my beer in a silent toast to life, to love, to Bella. To change.

Rose and Emmett talk about work, obviously both trying to impress the other, and my and Bella's roles are reduced to nodding and supporting whatever claim either of them makes. It's like cheering the home team at Homecoming. You don't have to follow the game, just stand up and cheer whenever someone tells you to. The temperature around the table is rising, and I don't think it has anything to do with the grill.

"Hey," I push my chair back and stand, interrupting their verbal sparring. "This was a delicious meal. Does anyone want coffee, or do you feel like eating some more?" Bella sends me a grateful look across the table, which is filled with nearly empty plates and bottles.

Rosalie twists in her chair to look at me and frowns. "Oh, I almost forgot, I brought some cupcakes and macaroons for dessert They're in the kitchen. I'll show you where." She stands up, throws her napkin on the table and strides into the kitchen.

"Four coffees?" I ask, as I gather up as many of the plates as I can carry. This is a familiar feeling.

Emmett lolls back in his chair, his hands behind his head and grins up at me. "Coffee, please, milk and sugar, too, if you have it. Oh, I can't wait for dessert!" He looks suggestively at Bella, who blushes, predictably. She helps me gather together the last plates and cutlery, dropping the knives on to the table twice as she speaks, breathlessly:

"I'll have tea, please. Thank you, Edward. Do you need help with those?"

I shake my head. "No, just relax, you've done too much already. Why don't you let Emmett tell you about what they've actually done to the deck to make it look as good as new?"

That's the only cue Emmett needs. Balancing my stack, through the open doors I can hear him wind up. "It's all in the groundwork, I always say. If you start out right, it's a piece of cake, but if you try to hurry up and save time or money and manpower in the first day of work, it always comes back to fuck things up for you later in the process. Pardon my language …"

I walk into the kitchen, drop my load on the counter, and start scraping plates and loading the dishwasher. Rosalie is arranging some pastries on a plate and looks over at me.

"So, what do you think of Emmett? Did you guys get along while he was working here?" Her voice is casual, but I'm sure that she cares more than she lets on. She's like a teenager, eagerly fishing for information about the person she has a crush on.

I shrug. "Honestly? I didn't see too much of him, since I was mostly off working while they were here. He seems like a pleasant enough guy; someone who takes pride in his work. He's a bit rough around the edges maybe, but honest. He seems to say exactly what's on his mind." I smile at her, trying to imagine someone like Emmett hanging around with someone like Rosalie at a social function. Like an elephant in a china shop. A lovable elephant, but still.

Rosalie blows a strand of blonde hair out of her eyes and looks at me for a long time. It's the kind of gaze that makes me uncomfortable, as if she was tapping into a secret surveillance microphone that was taping all my thoughts.

"I sort of get what Bella sees in you now, Edward. I just hope that your protectiveness isn't all an act, and that you know what Bella needs to be protected from." She crosses her arms, and leans with her hip against the kitchen counter, a picture of beauty and self-assurance.

"I can see what you're thinking about Emmett - that he's a guy with more brawns than brains - and maybe you're right. Maybe he isn't like the guys Bella and I used to date back at university, but you know what, Edward?" Her eyes are darker now, and she points to her chest with one long, red nail. "Emmett's got a heart, and that counts for a lot in my book. Bella has been surrounded by smooth, brainy guys most of her adult life, and it hasn't done her much good. What she needs, what every woman needs, is a guy with a warm heart; someone who can be selfless and make sacrifices for the woman he loves." She leans forward for emphasis.

"So, if you want to protect Bella, don't try to protect her from those who care about her, like me. Protect her from the cold ones, the people who will use her for their own ends if they can. Because she's smart enough when it comes to matters of the head, but it's her heart that really needs protecting. She tends to trust the wrong people." Rosalie picks up the plate piled with cupcakes and walks out of the kitchen. She speaks over her shoulder to me. "And now, you really should make that coffee, Edward."

* * *

**A/N: This chapter grew long, so I'm cutting it in half and getting part one out early, since I'll be out of town for the weekend. I promise to answer any review or PM as soon as I'm back, though. You knock my socks off: thank you for reading, and a special thanks to those of you who told me you rec'd this story on Twitter! You make me feel humble … :)**


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: Disclaimer - Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. Due to a miscommunication with my lovely beta Trekgeezer, this chapter is unedited, for which I humbly apologize! This is where we left off:**

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"_So, if you want to protect Bella, don't try to protect her from those who care about her, like me. Protect her from the cold ones, the people who will use her for their own ends if they can. Because she's smart enough when it comes to matters of the head, but it's her heart that really needs protecting because she tends to trust the wrong people." Rosalie turns around and picks up the plate piled with cupcakes, and walks out of the kitchen, speaking over her shoulder to me. "And now, you really should make that coffee, Edward."_

_Timid and tepid, I'm a compulsive liar_

_Combustible like a tire, tempestuous and dire_

_But rarely ever a bore_

_If you peel me into the core_

_You'll find that face of a jester you so love to abhore_

_I adore those little gestures_

_With which you strive to deplore what I do_

_You think you love me, shit, you ain't got a clue_

_I'm not devoted to this like a junkie or a capitalist_

_I could never be that excited, keep selling, I ain't buying_

_Your might find it out in the streets_

_Looking for stones to throw_

_But if you forget to breathe_

_You won't be able to blow anybody off their feet_

_I repeat: while you hide it out in the street_

_Counting the days 'til your next defeat_

_I'll be the cocaine in your cola_

_The steroids in your cow_

_The dolphin in your tuna_

_Guess all the punks in the world can't save me now._

David Sandstrom: Cocaine in your Cola

**Chapter 23**

**EPOV**

I just stand there, staring after her and I'm sure my mouth is hanging open, too. What the fuck? Did she just tell me off for getting in her way when she was making Bella feel bad? And did she have the nerve to tell me that while she "cares" about Bella, I don't? I feel angry, and I know what can happen when I'm angry. I concentrate on pushing that feeling down, deep down, while I absentmindedly reach for the mocha brewer and put some water on the boil, frowning at my hands.

I know that Bella trusts me, it's obvious in everything she says and does. Well, as much as she lets herself trust anyone right now. Does that automatically make me "the wrong people"? Am I just a symptom of Bella's lack of judgment? I can't believe that. Maybe she wouldn't have looked at me twice if she hadn't been so vulnerable when we met. Maybe there's no way our paths would have crossed if I hadn't made a lot of serious mistakes and hurt other people with them; but I choose to see that as fate. I would never have dreamed of a woman like Bella before, but now that I see her, I can't imagine anyone I'd rather be with. And I sure enough won't let self-centered Rosalie Hale stop me.

I assemble everything on a tray, and make sure to add Bella's favorite tea mug. When I carry the tray out to the table, Rosalie and Emmett are arguing and Bella is smiling. She still looks as if she's relieved to see me again. I touch her hand as I hand her the tea mug. That's all it takes to set me tingling with a longing to touch her more, now, to claim her and make her mine, Rosalie be damned. Boy, I'm such a caveman! I quickly retreat to the kitchen to get the coffee and tea, and to hide the surge of emotion I feel, a mix of lust, longing, shame and the wish to rebel against Rosalie's authority. Those kinds of feelings have proved self-destructive before.

When I return, I'm determined to be on my best behavior, and I serve everybody their coffee and tea. I'm trying to think of Rosalie and Emmett as customers at the café, people I don't know but have no reason to dislike and should treat with courtesy. Bella looks at me, and I think there is some concern in her expression. She already reads me too well, so I smile at her, I hope reassuringly, as I sit down again.

"So, are you a baseball fan, Edward? Did you ever play?" It's Emmett again, looking at me with friendly, interested eyes that crinkle at the corners where the sun has left the traces of laugh wrinkles in his tanned skin. "You have the shoulders of a baseball player."

I flex my shoulders self-consciously as I pick up my coffee cup. "No, I'm not really into baseball, or football either, although I did play some in high school. I'm a track runner. I prefer a sport where I have more control. Balls are just too ... unpredictable." Really, it's people that are too unpredictable, but that's not a discussion we should get into right now.

Emmett laughs, and his laugh is as big as himself. "Yeah, right, you could say that. But that's what sport is all about, isn't it? Harnessing the unpredictable, playing with what you've got, improvising, trying to outsmart yourself?" His gaze is friendly but somehow shrewd, and I let my attention momentarily drift away from him. I look at Bella's face, her eyes fixed on me, warmer than any other eyes I can remember. I turn the question back to Emmett.

"What about you? You look like a football player to me. Did you play in college?"

Emmett shrugs. "Yes, that's how I got in. I went to college in the Midwest on a football scholarship and was going to play my way, maybe be a coach one day. But then I busted up my knee really bad in a game sophomore year, and spent a couple of months in rehab, before they told me I would probably never be able to play again." He rolls up his jeans and shows us the massive scar tissue around his leg. "It doesn't look too bad anymore, but it used to be a really ugly red for years. I can walk without much trouble, I just can't surf or rock-climb or do much running, and it aches in cold and rainy weather. That's why I love California. You can't beat the weather here."

"I'm sorry. That sounds like a bum deal." I look at him, earnest now. "So what happened then? Did you quit playing?"

He laughs again, but this time it doesn't reach his blue eyes. "Yeah, I lost my scholarship, obviously, and I dropped out for a couple of years. Got a desk job at the company of a friend of my dad's that sold sport equipment and saved up my money. Then, later, I went back to college and got a technical degree. I always liked to work with my hands, though, so when I came out I looked around and realized that there were a lot of people who wanted to have work done on their houses. There were also a lot of crappy firms doing crummy jobs. I decided I was going to do a great job, and my family helped me get a loan so I could start this business." He waves his hands around with a big smile. "That was twelve years ago, and look at me now!"

"Did you get hit by the recession?" Bella asks. "I know a lot of people in California are hurting from it. I guess that could affect a business like yours?"

Emmett makes a face, then smiles again. "Yes, sure, times are bad for a lot of people, but there are still enough guys out there who don't know how to mend their own roofs, or even clean a drain. We do pretty much everything from paint jobs to construction to renovations. I've collected a group of really good people who are multi-talented that work with me, so clients tend to recommend us to their friends. We don't cost more than the average firm, but we do a hell of a better job, and that counts." He turns to Rosalie.

"You probably should worry more about Gorgeous here. " He winks, and Rosalie frowns. "I bet the recession must be hell for big-wigs like yourself. No one wants to sue their neighbor or pay through their noses to get a high-profile divorce when the times are bad, right?"

Rosalie throws her napkin across the table, and Emmett dodges it easily. "Hey, I'm not some cheap divorce lawyer, you know that! I take on many high-profile cases, but if I do it's not because of the money, it's because it's something worth doing."

"You do make a lot of money though, don't you?" Emmett asks, waggling his eyebrows in an imitation of Groucho Marx. I can see that he's just trying to rile Rosalie up.

Rosalie scowls back at him, but I can see the twinkle in her eye. "I sure need it, when I'm being ripped off by crooks like you. Seriously, how can it take a week and that much money just to fix my deck and build a grill? I could probably get fifty grills at Target for that money."

"Target!" Emmett screams in fake outrage. "Woman, have you even been to Target?" Aaand - they're at it again! Foreplay. I smirk to myself.

I reach out for one of the cupcakes, and bite into its´ frosted goodness. Mmmm, white chocolate and raspberry. I wipe my sticky fingers on the napkin and gesture to the plate. "Did you try one of the cupcakes, Bella? They're really good."

Bella makes a face and shakes her head. "No, I don't like things that are too sweet. I prefer dark chocolate or fruit for dessert. Hey, that only means there's more for the rest of you." She smirks. "Thank you for the tea, by the way, you know just how I like it." I lean closer to her, and lower my voice.

"No, I don't know nearly enough about how you like it, but I aim to find out if you'll let me." I give her my best sexy smile and have the joy of seeing that pink blush, which looks so delicious, slowly rise like a wave across her throat and cheeks. To hide it, Bella stands up and takes her cup of tea with her to the edge of the deck looking towards the beach. I follow her, leaving the two love birds to their endless sparring across the table, hoping that plates and cupcakes won't start flying through the air.

Bella glances at me when I stand by her side, leaning against the rail, and whispers fiercely "Are you trying to make me blush on purpose, Edward?" I feel a small twinge of guilt at maybe embarrassing her in front of her friend.

Soothingly, I briefly touch her hand, and relax when she lets me and doesn't pull away in irritation. I whisper back. "Actually, I do." She looks at me, puzzled more than angry. I explain: "I think your blush is lovely. I wish there was more I could do to bring it on." She looks away, her color deepening again.

"I've always hated it," she says. "When I was a kid I would be so embarrassed by the way I blushed that I was tongue-tied. It was a terrible handicap in an argument. People always laughed at me. And then later, I knew exactly what I should have said to shut them up."

I smile, repressing the urge to push a strand of her dark hair, which is flying across her face as she speaks, behind the pink shell of her ear. To me she is fierceness and gentleness rolled into one. I can imagine her as a kid in grade school, just the same, only smaller. Her kind heart, maturity and keen mind must have been a source of envy, and a reason for her slower class mates to bully her.

"Don't worry, I used to be teased for it too." Bella looks at me, surprised.

"What do you mean? Did you use to blush? You never blush, Edward! Nothing seems to faze you."

I shrug, slightly taken aback by her comment. Lots of things faze me. Can't she see how weak I am?

"They used to call me Red in school, because I was this pale, scrawny kid with red hair who got all these freckles in summer, and who blushed fire red when he got angry or upset. They loved to tease me, just to see me color up. I used to get in a lot of fights with people because of my blush, I tell you. And then when I got older I guess I outgrew it, and people forgot about it and started calling me Edward instead."

"You never had a nickname? Ted? Eddie?" Bella laughs, and it reminds me yet again of how much I love that sound.

"You laugh because you can tell it doesn't sound right! Do I look like a Ted? Or – God forbid – an Eddie?" I straighten my back and look down at her in mock irritation. She shakes her head demurely and smiles.

"No, it's true, you don't."

"How about you? Were you always a Bella? Not Isabella?"

She pulls on the hair at the nape of her neck, then takes her long hair down out of the messy bun, only to do it up in a ponytail again, and I think about how beautiful the line of her long neck is. She is as graceful as a swan, she just doesn't seem to know it. She gazes far away for a moment, and I wish I knew what she was thinking.

"No, I've always been Bella, except when I was in trouble as a kid, then it was Isabella. And my Dad sometimes calls me Bells. But I got called a lot of nicknames in school, none of which I liked, so I've always appreciated it when people use my real name."

"They used to pick on you too?" She nods, but turns her face to the sea. "Don't worry about it: my theory is that only the best people get bullied and teased in school by the future losers. It's a sort of justice: the bullies get to think they're on top of the world in school for a few years, torturing others and ignoring their homework. Then they pay for it for the rest of their lives by ending up stupid, pathetic and ugly. And their victims grow up, lose the braces on their teeth and become beautiful swans, wise and successful and finally appreciated for their true worth out in the real world."

Bella asks me in a low voice. "Do you really believe that, Edward? That there's some sort of justice at work in the world? That people get what they deserve?" The question is serious, and I feel a sort of chill pass through me. Do I believe in justice? And in that case, what does that mean for me?

I drag my hands through my hair, then stick them in my pockets to hide the sudden trembling I feel in them. "No. Yes. I don't know. I hope there's some sort of justice, I just don't know if it's strictly individual. I mean, I've known a lot of bad things happen to good people, and I've seen bad people get away with murder." I swallow.

"I guess I believe in karma, in some way. That the good things you do make a difference in the greater balance of your life, even if you don't get to reap the benefits from them personally, or right away. And that if you add to the bad stuff in the world, somehow that will come back to bite you in the tail, even if you don't see it happening right now." I frown. "I know that life isn't fair, if that's what you mean. But I still think that can't be an excuse for not trying to make things better."

Suddenly, I become aware of the silence behind us and when I turn around, Emmett and Rosalie are nowhere to be seen. Bella turns around too, and I look at her with my eyebrows raised.

"Did you notice them saying anything about taking off?" Bella shakes her head.

"No, but maybe they just went inside to get some more wine or make some more coffee."

The table is still covered with the remains of our dessert, and before we go inside, we collect the cups and the pastries, before any sea gulls land on the deck to make their own feast.

We walk through the living room and into the kitchen. Still no sign of Rosalie or Emmett. Are they playing hide and seek? Did they decide to take their never-ending argument outside? Then I hear unmistakable noises coming from the other side of the house. Bella looks at me, mortified.

"My God. Are they … are they _having sex_?!"

I don't know if it would be rude to laugh right now, but I can feel the corners of my mouth twitching. This is so outrageous: our guests have quietly taken off to have not-so-quiet sex in one of the bedrooms. I just hope it isn't Bella's, because I don't think she would like that kind of invasion of her privacy.

Bella's face is red, and this time it's a mixture of anger and embarrassment.

"Just because this is _her_ house, does she really think she can behave like this? I mean, I know she's used to coming down here with her lovers all the time, but this …" She suddenly whirls around and grabs my arm. "I can't just sit around and listen to this. Let's get out of the house. Now!"

"But what about..?" I gesture to the kitchen and the things we haven't put in the dishwasher.

"Oh, she can clean up her own kitchen if she can use her bedroom. Come on, Edward! If they can be rude, so can we." Bella marches through the hallway, ignoring the thumping sounds of a bed being pushed against the wall in the bedroom down the hall (not Bella's, fortunately) and the moans of pleasure – Rosalie is very vocal during sex it would seem. Bella only stops to snatch up her purse, keys and her black Chucks before bolting out the door. I follow her example, and leave my shoes unlaced as I hurry after her, only stopping to lock the door behind us. Once we're on the street, I pull on her arm.

"Wait a minute, Bella. I just need to tie my shoes, and you're still barefoot. No need to run any further, now that we're out of range."

Bella stops, hesitates, and then sits down beside me on the curb to put her shoes on. I look at her from the side, trying to judge her mood. Is she angry? Uncomfortable? Should I say something funny to diffuse the tension? She chews on her lip, which makes me want to kiss her.

"Edward, I'm sorry for dragging you out of the house like that." She glances over at me, as if she's trying to judge how I'm feeling. "I just … Rosalie knows I don't like it when she pushes her love life in my face, and this was just … unnecessary. It's like she's flaunting it, just because she can. It made me mad."

She frowns, and ties her shoes with determination, then stands up, holding one hand out to me, smoothing down her clothes and brushing off the seat of her skirt. She really is very pretty in that dress. I wish she would take off her cardigan and show off her cleavage again, but instead I say;

"I know. I thought earlier that, for a good friend, Rosalie seems a bit callous and pushy. But that dress – I have to say I'm glad you decided to go along with her and put it on. Do you know how wonderful you look?" I smile down at her and take her hands. The thrill of her touch is undiminished, and I squeeze her soft fingers in my own as she looks up at me, skeptical.

"You know you don't have to give me compliments, Edward? I mean, it's thoughtful of you, and I appreciate it, but you don't have to say things like that. It's fine anyway. I'm fine." She turns around and starts walking abruptly, but lets her right hand remain clutched in mine as we go.

The smile has fallen from my face, and I don't know what to say. Why can't she accept that I'm telling the truth? Does she think I'm just playing her, trying to get her to like me? I swallow. Maybe she's still wary of me and my intentions, maybe this is her way of keeping her distance. Maybe she thinks that this isn't going anywhere and doesn't want me to start thinking that she needs me. Maybe she's telling me that I shouldn't fall for her, that I'm not good enough for her. I suddenly feel my mood sink. We walk in silence for a while, each of us thinking our own thoughts, until Bella suddenly says,

"Hey, isn't that bar around here someplace, the one we went to with Kate and the others?"

I nod, feeling doubtful. "Yes, it's a couple of blocks from here. Do you want to go there? Don't you think it will be too crowded?"

Bella hesitates visibly, then replies; "Maybe. But it's Sunday, and it's still pretty early. Let's go see what it looks like. If it's not too crowded we can hang out in a booth in the back and talk, until it's safe to walk home." She gives me a wry smile, and I smile back at her, temporarily lifted out of my brooding mood by her sweet face.

"So how long do you think it will take before the all clear sounds? An hour? Two hours?" Bella makes a disgusted face, and I squeeze her hand harder. She's cute and I want to hug her right now, in the street.

"Did you share a room in college with Rosalie?" I ask, suddenly struck by the thought that maybe this isn't the first time Rosalie has driven Bella out of her own home. Bella nods.

"Yes, we shared a room the first two years. Then Rosalie got a room of her own, and I shared with another girl that we both knew. It was a lot of fun sharing with Rose, but it could also be … stressful." Bella looks up at me. "We had these signals, you know. Like, if Rose put up a poster on the door it meant 'don't come in, I'm entertaining a boyfriend'. Or if I put my flip flops outside the door it meant 'I really need to study right now so please take the party somewhere else'. Stuff like that."

"Which one of you came up with these signals? And does that mean that Rosalie never had to study and you never had a boyfriend?" I'm curious to know more. If Rosalie was always this bossy, how come they became friends in the first place?

Bella looks up at me, earnest. "Oh, no, Rose worked hard in college, otherwise she wouldn't have been such a success, even though she is exceptionally smart and tough. But I didn't date very much, and I really liked reading, so it was usually I who wanted to use our room for studying. Rose mostly did her study sessions in the library, and used her room for her … social life. That's one of the reasons she got her parents to pay for a single room in junior year, although she told them that she needed more peace and quiet to focus on her studies." Bella smiles, a wry smile.

"Although she moved to a sorority floor, so I'm not sure how much peace and quiet she ever got there. There always seemed to be some party going on or someone yelling about something or blasting music whenever I was there. But the two of us really got along, in spite of our differences. We always have, for some reason." She looks thoughtful.

I look up to see "Ink It Black" across the street, and as I open the door for Bella, music and voices pour out along with the red and yellow light from the bar. I hope this will be better than last time, is the last thing I have time to think as we enter, before someone hits me on the shoulder, and I reel, hard. What the fuck?!

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**A/N: So, things are progressing on all fronts! I'm curious: Did you have a room-mate in college? How did you get along? Are you as baffled as Edward at Bella's friendship with Rosalie? Thank you for reading and commenting – it means a lot to me. **


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: Disclaimer - Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. Thank you to my experienced beta, Trekgeezer, for trying to keep me in line! And thank you to everyone who's following and reading! Here's Bella's point of view again …**

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_Against that time, if ever that time come,_

_When I shall see thee frown on my defects,_

_When as thy love hath cast his utmost sum,_

_Call'd to that audit by advised respects;_

_Against that time when thou shalt strangely pass,_

_And scarcely greet me with that sun, thine eye,_

_When love, converted from the thing it was,_

_Shall reasons find of settled gravity;_

_Against that time do I ensconce me here_

_Within the knowledge of mine own desert,_

_And this my hand against myself uprear,_

_To guard the lawful reasons on thy part:_

_To leave poor me thou hast the strength of laws,_

_Since why to love I can allege no cause._

William Shakespeare: Sonnet no 49

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**Chapter 24**

**BPOV**

Walking away from the house with Edward, I feel mad and disappointed. Mad at Rose and disappointed at myself for being afraid to tell Rose about Edward and me. I'm a coward, as per usual. I feel the unfamiliar dress cling to my skin, and I feel uncomfortable. Yes, it is a pretty dress; it just doesn't look pretty on me.

Rose wouldn't let me be. She breezed into my room, and rooted the dress out from my closet and threw it on the bed, all but stripping me down with her own hands.

"Bella, this is an awesome dress, and you're going to rock it, believe me. Please, please, please may I see you in something really nice for a change?"

I scowled at her. "What do you mean? I always dress nice when I come into town to see you! Are you telling me you don't approve of my fashion choices or that I look messy or cheap? Please clarify."

Rose backed off, but only slightly. "Yes, I know you make an effort for me, but that's just it! You've got to start making an effort for _you_, Bella! You can't slouch around here day after day in baggy jeans or sweats. You've got to show yourself some respect! And you can look really pretty when you want to, when you're not hiding in some potato sack, trying to be invisible. Please try this dress on; I know it will be just right for you."

She looked at me, her eyes pleading, absolutely stunning in her perfect make-up, with her perfect body squeezed into her perfect red dress. But then, Rose was always stunning and perfect. She just never seemed able to accept the fact that I'm not like her. Put me in that dress and I will bulge right out of it and look disgusting.

I glanced over at the abomination on my bed. It _was_ a really pretty dress, with a nipped in waist and scooped neckline in a soft, silky material that felt cool on the skin. It was white, with abstract patterns in brown, gold and turquoise that were pleasing to the eye. But it was a size 10 and I absolutely could not wear a size 10. I would look ridiculous in a size 10. Rose must have been crazy. But she wasn't about to give up. I blew some air out through my nostrils, wishing it were fire, glared at her and picked up the dress.

"Fine, I'll try it on and prove that you're wrong. I can't wear that dress. You'll see." I rummaged through my drawers for some panty hose and underwear that might at least help me pull this off. Behind me I heard Rose clear her throat. I looked over my shoulder, pissed off.

"What now?"

She pointed to my feet. "Don't forget the shoes I brought. You'll need some heels to show off your legs."

I whined, "Roose! You know I never wear those sort of heels, they are a health hazard to someone as clumsy as me. Besides, they hurt like hell to walk in!"

She just stared at me, unyielding. "That dress _needs_ those shoes, Bella. It's a fact."

I huffed again. "Okay, but you're the one who's going to drive me to the hospital, and sit with me all night in the emergency room, after I keel over and bust my head open." I dug the ridiculous shoes out of my closet and walked into the bath room, slamming the door behind me.

Rose called through the door, "I would never take you to an emergency room, Bella darling. I would call my private physician and take you to him, pronto. Those emergency rooms are full of germs. You should avoid them like the plague."

I muttered to myself, "Well, if emergency rooms are so bad for a person, I don't know how I survived the first 18 years of my existence…"

Pulling off my shirt and khaki skirt, I wangled myself into pantyhose, a bra and a silk slip that would hopefully help me cover the worst parts up. Nothing seemed to fit me these days. I thought my breasts must be getting smaller, and although I've always felt comfortable in roomy clothes, I also felt distressed. My breasts were ever the part of me that I kind of liked, small but adequately round and perky. Now, I may be losing that last comfort. Maybe my breasts were the main thing that made Edward feel attracted to me? I know that many men fixate on breasts, all kinds of breasts, and Edward had really seemed to like touching and kissing mine.

I blushed, and tried to get the dress to sit right; not too revealing, and not too clinging, securely zipped up and adjusted at the neck so that it hopefully wouldn't slip. The material was too thin and too slippery, and I almost wailed to myself when I finally cast a desperate glance in the mirror. You could see _everything,_ every imperfection, every sagging piece of flesh, every bulge! I looked huge and hideous, mutton dressed as lamb. Surely Rose must see it and relent?

Gingerly, I pushed my reluctant feet into the pretty shoes. They were a bit too small for me, since my feet are so broad they don't fit in normal shoes. I'm used to that, so I just clenched my jaw and walked carefully into the bedroom. Rose was rummaging through what serves as my box of jewelry, a shoe box lined with pink wrapping paper. It's something I've had since I was a teenager.

Needless to say, I didn't take any of the jewelry James had given me through the years with me when I left. It was tainted with memories of times and words I didn't want to remember. The pieces in themselves were nothing I would have chosen, just James' idea of what was "appropriate" for someone in my position to wear. I've always preferred silver, simple, understated jewelry, while James was all for gold and expensive designs.

Rose turned around and beamed at me, and I gave her a helpless look, holding my arms out in shame so that she could truly see how everything quivered and bulged in a disgusting way. But she chose to ignore it, instead she held out a necklace.

"See, I told you it would look good on you! Now come here so that I can do your make-up and hair too."

I just walked out on her then, back to the kitchen, almost in tears from humiliation.I was too exasperated with Rose to remember the fact that Emmett was hanging around and could turn up anytime and see me like this. Fortunately, Edward came home and rescued me from further attention. I don't know how he does it; accepts me, in spite of the mess I am, and adapts to any situation, seemingly without fear or doubt. I am filled with fear and doubt most of the time.

I wrap my free arm around my middle, clutching the comfortable cardigan against me, and gently squeeze Edward's large, warm hand holding mine. My flight from the house was instinctive; I don't want to sit around pretending not to notice what's going on under our noses. Nor do I have any idea of where to go or what to do. We are barred from the house for an hour or two, or however long Rosalie needs to satisfy her libido.

Then it strikes me; I should go talk to that cocky guy at the bar and find out why he seems so interested in me, and why he's sending cryptic messages through Edward. Or better yet, I should get my book back to sever the possible connection between us. He looks like trouble, and neither of us needs more trouble in our lives. Before, I wouldn't have dared to confront him, but Edward's presence gives me a new sense of calm and self-assurance. I look up at Edward, who is watching me as if he's trying to read my mind, that intense look on his face, as if he's listening for some sound only he can hear.

"Hey," I say, "isn't that bar around here someplace, the one we went to with Kate and the others?"

He nods. "Yes, it's a couple of blocks from here. Do you want to go there? Don't you think it will be too crowded?" His eyes narrow, and he looks concerned. He's probably thinking about how I reacted after the last time we went there. Psychotic Bella.

I consider this for a second, trying to envision a room filled with people drinking, laughing, watching me, judging me. But then I mentally shake myself, breathing deep, turning the vision around. In a popular, crowded bar, no one will have any interest in looking at _me_. I will fly under the radar, as I'm too boring to be noticed, and therefore, have nothing to fear. That guy, Tony, will probably be too busy to pay very much attention to me. On the other hand, if the bar turns out to be half empty, it's even better. We'll spend some time in a corner, just me and Edward, talking one-on-one. Then I can decide what I should say to the bartender, with Edward as my moral support.

I turn to him, and the slanting evening sun colors his hair red and sparks gold in his luminous eyes. He is beautiful, and I almost forget what I was about to say. I draw a deep breath and blurt out:

"Maybe. But it's Sunday, and it's still pretty early. Let's go see what it looks like. If it's not too crowded we can hang out in a booth by ourselves and talk until Rose has cleared out and it's safe to go back."

Edward gives me one of those boyish smiles that make him look twelve years old, as if I'd just told him he could have the cookie jar all to himself.

"So how long do you think it will take before the all-clear sounds? An hour? Two hours?" he asks me, and I make a mock-disgusted face. Really, I'm sure Rosalie could be going at it for hours. I hope she has the decency to take Emmett home and continue the love-party there, instead of hanging out in her old bed all night.

"Did you share a room in college with Rosalie?" Edward asks, and I swear I think that man is reading my mind. I was just thinking of college. I nod.

"Yes, we shared a room the first two years, then Rosalie got her own room, and I shared with another girl that we both knew. It was a lot of fun sharing with Rose, but it could also be…stressful. We had these signals, you know. Like, if Rose put up a poster on the door it meant 'don't come in, I'm entertaining a boyfriend.' Or if I put my flip flops outside the door it meant 'I really need to study right now so please take the party somewhere else.' Stuff like that."

Actually, the system was triggered by the first time I walked into our room to find Rosalie making out on her bed with a senior. He was a hunk of a guy who no other freshman had the guts to flirt with, except Rose, of course. She had wrapped him around her pinkie in no time. There was no nudity involved, but seeing my roommate kissing with tongue and being groped was still enough to make me wish for some acid to bleach the images from my mind. My surprised squeal interrupted them. The guy scrambled off the bed and there was embarrassment and apologies all around before he straightened his clothes and took off. Then we sat down to have a roommate roundtable conference, establishing The Rules.

"Which one of you came up with these signals? And does that mean that Rosalie never used to study and you never had a boyfriend?" Edward's question interrupts my thoughts. Well, I never had a boyfriend in college, not as such, but that's hardly the point. I frown inwardly. Is it really that obvious? And then I catch the first part of his question. Why do guys always think that pretty girls can't be smart, too?

"Oh, no, Rose worked hard in college, otherwise she wouldn't have been such a success," I say emphatically, "even though she is exceptionally smart and tough." It's true. As a law student you can never twiddle your thumbs, no matter how high your IQ is or how well off your parents are. Rose deserved every grade she got, but she didn't whine about her workload. She used to huddle up at a desk in the library in her comfy designer sweats with ear phones, a bunch of green apples, orange juice and Skittles at hand. Then she'd read and write for hours until she felt satisfied she'd nailed it. Rose always knew how to work hard and party hard, each in good time.

"But I didn't date very much, and I really liked reading, so it was usually I who wanted to use our room for studying. Rose mostly did her study sessions in the library, and used her room for her…social life."

It was through Rose's social life that I got a social life, sort of by extension. People were drawn in by her and when she was there, the door to our room was open most of the time. Friends kept dropping in to do anything from painting their nails to watch soaps to getting quietly high. Oh, I had my own pals, too, but we didn't party so much as hung out, reading or listening to music. The Rules were established to make sure we would still have a certain amount of privacy and that I would get my eight hours of sleep.

"That's one of the reasons she got her parents to pay for a single room for her in junior year, although she told them that she needed more peace and quiet to focus on her studies."

I smile to myself, remembering how Rose put her move off because she wanted to protect me. Once I understood what her reluctance was about, I reassured her that I would be fine, and we would still be friends. By that time I wasn't such a recluse anymore. Then Savannah moved in with me She was someone I had already met in my European Lit class and hit it off with. Rose was welcomed with open arms on her sorority floor. She was just the kind of girl they were looking for, and she attracted just the kind of guys they wanted. Including Royce. But that's another story.

I add wryly, "I'm not sure how much peace and quiet Rosalie actually got on a sorority floor. There always seemed to be some party going on, or someone yelling about something or blasting music whenever I was there. But the two of us really got along, in spite of our differences. We always have, for some reason."

It's really one of the mysteries of my life, my friendship with Rose. Even now, when I'm feeling resentful about the way she acted today, she brings a reluctant smile to my face. She may act selfish or seem cold at times, but she is one of the few people who know me, and who is always there for me when I need someone.

I sigh, and straighten up, looking up to see the bar across the road from us. I look at Edward, squeeze his hand and smile before walking across the street. He holds the door open for me - always the gentleman - but I barely have time to scan the room before there's a commotion to my right. I stumble back towards the wall as something big crashes into Edward, who goes flying and lands on his side on the floor. He jumps back up with surprising speed and spins around to where I cower, shocked. He quickly pushes me behind him.

Over his shoulder I see that the bartender, Tony, is trying to handle a big man with a shaved head, who has either had way too much to drink or is psychologically unstable. My first instinct is to freak out and rush for the door to get out of here, but I realize that that's exactly where Tony seems to be heading. My next thought is that someone should call the police, since Tony could be in serious danger. He may be tall, but this guy is bigger and bulkier. He is waving his fists about threateningly, as if he's raring for a fight, half shouting unintelligible threats.

But even as I can feel Edward tense, probably getting ready to try to push the guy away from us, Tony neatly captures the big guy's right arm. He then rotates him and trips him up with his leg so that the shaved guy crashes to his face on the floor, wincing. Tony lands with one knee in the small of his back, the other pinning his left arm, keeping the right arm twisted behind the guy's back and his hand captured in a grip that looks extremely painful. Tony's expression is grim and focused, and his brow shines with sweat, but he doesn't seem upset. The guy on the floor whimpers and Tony pushes down with his knee as he says clearly, "Please keep still, and you won't get hurt, mister. The police will be here in a minute. Just relax and breathe and everything will be fine."

The immediate threat out of the way, Edward turns to me, cupping my face in his hand, searching my eyes for a reaction. "Are you all right Bella? Did you get hurt in any way?"

I shake my head, feeling a bit high on adrenaline, but otherwise fine. "No, I'm absolutely fine, Edward, don't worry. What about you – you took a fall?" I touch his shoulder, and he flexes it and winces with a rueful smile.

"Just a bruise or two, it's nothing to worry about." He turns back to Tony on the floor.

"Do you need any help?" he asks, crouching at a respectful distance from the mumbling, twitching heap of flesh on the floor.

Tony looks up, a flash of recognition in his eyes when he sees us, me still backed up against the wall, then looks down again. "No, thanks, Maryanne has called the cops, and I'm sure they'll be here shortly. Please, don't move sir," he adds to the man, who is kicking helplessly, but stops and moans when Tony bends his fingers and pushes down on his back, stretching his arm uncomfortably.

I look around. The bar is far from crowded, but there is a fair amount of people here, and a group of twenty or so are gathered at this end of the room. They're looking at the scene with Tony and the crazy guy, talking among themselves, looking scared or angry. The sound of sirens on the street outside makes people start shuffling to the sides. Edward takes my hand and starts weaving his way through the groups towards the back of the room. We find a table where we can sit with our backs to the wall, looking towards the commotion.

Edward squeezes my hand when two officers walk into the bar and crouch down to talk to Tony. They put handcuffs on the crazy guy, talk to him and frisk him for weapons, before walking him out of there. He stumbles, but seems calmer than before. One of the police officers returns to take down names of witnesses and ask them some questions, but then they take off. People start dispersing, sitting down, returning to their drinks and to playing pool. I notice that the music becomes louder, covering some of the uncertain feeling still lingering in the room. Tony returns to the bar, squeezes Maryanne's shoulder and talks to her briefly, before smiling at the people leaning over the bar, asking him about what just happened and ordering drinks.

Edward looks at me. "Still okay?" he asks, a crease between his eyebrows. He's probably still worried that I may freak out on him. I smile and shake my head.

"Really, Edward. I won't panic, I promise. It seems all is fine now, right?" I gesture to the bar. "Do you want something to drink?" I'm half out of my chair, before his large hand presses down gently on my shoulder, then trails up to touch my cheek when I obediently sink back in my seat.

"Allow me. What do you want? Some wine, or a soft drink? A beer?"

I shake my head. "Just a Diet Coke with some ice and lemon please." He nods his head, smiles, and walks away from me. I have the pleasure of ogling his backside, enjoying his even, gliding stride and the set of his shoulders and hips. I watch how he pulls out some money from his pocket, then pushes his shirt sleeves up in a gesture that is totally masculine and makes me remember how good his arms look bare. He is _so_ sexy, and I'm not sure he is even aware of it. I sigh to myself, something between excitement and dread twisting inside of me. He's mine, and I'm so lucky. He's mine, and I'm so scared of what's going to happen.

I don't want to stare mindlessly, so I try to focus on the other people in the room. A group of guys in their thirties nearby are shooting pool, talking and feeling mellow. They're teasing each other whenever one of them misses a shot. None of them look my way, and I relax, thinking that middle-age isn't so bad, at least not when you _want _to be invisible from time to time.

There are couples in their twenties, too, good-looking young girls in skinny jeans and fancy tops, guys in jeans and polo shirts, with their heads together in the booths to the side of the room. I think back with nostalgia to those years in college when I had the growing feeling that everything was truly possible, that things could change and that we all could be pretty much anything we wanted to be. I sigh. Now, I'm at a point where choices are limited in my personal life, and the whole country is wavering between the hope for change and the bleakness of a sinking economy. I don't even know what's going to happen with my own job.

I feel a shiver run through my body when once again I remember that I have to talk to the head of my department, Dr. Cope, soon. We have to make arrangements for fall semester, that is, if she still wants me around. If the book is a success, that might be a help, but I haven't had the opportunity to do serious research in years. I've passed up on so many opportunities in the past because James didn't want me to spend a lot of time away from him.

It's crazy, and the more I think about it, the more I don't understand how I could let him dictate so many of my decisions. But in the beginning I was young and insecure, and I deferred to him because I loved him, respected him and wanted to please him. Later on, it became a habit because I hated conflict and didn't want him to get angry with me. I've got no one to blame but myself, though, and that's probably the worst part. I've given other people power over me, and I'm the only one who can take that power back.

I break away from my thoughts when Edward comes back to the table with our drinks, Coke and ice for both of us.

"You don't have to stick to soft drinks just because I do, you know. If you feel like it, please go on and have a beer, it doesn't bother me." I look at him curiously because I've never known a guy who drank Coke at a bar when he could have a beer. Edward just shrugs, sits down and slides his chair closer to me so that our shoulders briefly touch. This both comforts and excites me at the same time.

"Nah, I already had a beer at the house, this is fine. What about you, Bella? Is it for medical reasons that you don't drink much?" His eyes are fixed on me, and right now they're huge. He has that innocent expression on his face. It makes him look like an angel, and my mouth feels dry. I look away, so that I'll be able to speak.

"Oh, I've never been a big drinker. And now since I've tried to establish a new, healthy life style, cutting down on alcohol is just one of those things. I guess you could say that it's a sort of medical reason."

I don't mention the fact that I've cut down on a lot of things I love: alcohol, food, TV, sugar and carbohydrates. Partly because I thought I was abusing them to distract myself from the goals I needed to focus on, like working hard on my book and getting back in shape mentally and physically. The new me is going to be strong, independent and honest, able to deny herself everything that's even remotely self-destructive. Getting rid of my anxiety meds is next on the list right now.

"Did you talk to Tony? What happened before we came in?" I sip my Coke and try to turn the conversation to something other than me.

Edward shakes his head. "Oh, that guy came in and tried to order a drink, Tony thought he might have had one too many already someplace else and wanted to talk him out of it. Then he started threatening people and refused to leave. Maryanne said she thought he was probably high on something, not drunk." He smirks at me. "She keeps a baseball bat behind the bar, did you know? I guess for a small girl she's kind of fierce." He looks at me, fondly. "Just like you." I startle.

"Fierce? Do you think I'm fierce? Hey, _Rose_ is fierce – you saw her attack Emmett the first time they met. I could never do something like that, I'm too rabbit-hearted." I frown. Whatever gave Edward the impression that I could be tough? I've certainly mostly done a lot of trying to turn the other cheek in the past.

"Oh, I don't know, Bella. You may not think you're fierce, but it has nothing to do with fighting." Edward smiles, but his eyes are earnest. "Maybe you wouldn't take a baseball bat to some guy's head, but if you saw someone in need, or something you loved being threatened, you'd stand up for them. I know you would. After all, you stood up for me." His eyes glow, and I blush. Oh. That.

"I've done a lot of things that seem out of character since I met you, Edward. I think it has more to do with you than with me." His long fingers wrap around my hand on the table, and a wave of unexpected desire detonates like an underwater bomb in my center. Ripples are spreading through my abdomen until my toes and fingers tingle and my nipples stand at attention. His hands. Suddenly I just wish I could feel them all over me. This is definitely a new character trait with me: being horny a lot of the time. I think impatiently of Rose, and wish that she would clear out so that we can have the house to ourselves again. Not that I especially want to have sex on the kitchen counter, but a bed and some privacy would be nice.

Edward drinks deeply from his Coke, then runs his tongue over his lower lip, still looking at me with those sparkling green eyes. I don't know if he means it to be suggestive, but it's sure as hell on my mind. Gaaah!

It's at this point that I become aware of someone hovering at the side of our table, and I look up to see Maryanne standing there. She's making a round, collecting empty glasses. She is wearing a vintage Scorpions t-shirt that is too big for her, and she has tied it up in a knot so that her hip bones are just visible above the low rise waist of her skinny black jeans. I watch her bare arms, fascinated with the traces of ink I can see – a delicate, drooping tree? Something that looks like a Chinese character? A vine, twining its way around her arm before disappearing under the t-shirt. I look up at her pretty, heart-shaped face and find her smiling at me. She's noticed the way I look at her pale, decorated skin.

"Sorry," I blurt out. "I didn't mean to stare."

"No worries, it's art after all, meant to be looked at." She jerks her head so that her black bangs fall back, out of her smoky eyes. "If someone with ink pretends to be offended when you take an interest in their work, they're just bullshitting divas. Everyone who is serious about getting inked want people to look at it, otherwise you make sure you get it done somewhere very private on your body, where you can keep it out of sight if you wish."

"Do you have secret tattoos you don't want people to see?" I ask, fascinated enough to forget my initial embarrassment. She smirks at me, and I catch a glimpse of a steel ball in her tongue, which makes me wince. Just the thought of having something that sensitive pierced with metal makes me shudder and think of medieval torture instruments.

"Well, if I had, do you think I would tell you about it?" she deadpans, laughing quietly as she picks up Edward's empty glass from the table. She looks at my glass, still half-full, and asks me:

"Hey, do you want me to mix you a Shirley Temple or something? Or I could ask Tony. He makes these fruity, non-alcoholic drinks with syrup and fruit juice all the time. They're really good."

I shake my head. "No, really, I prefer this. But thanks. Do you think…would Tony have time to talk to me or are you really busy now?"

She looks at me, her dark eyes sharp and curious, like a cat watching a mouse hole.

"No, sure, come over to the bar if you want to talk. Tony loves talking to people. It's no problem, don't be shy. Edward, what about you? A beer on the house? Tony said he owes you one." She smiles at Edward. Although there's nothing as crude as a come-on in her smile, there's a trace of electricity in the air between them. It's unmistakable, and not hard to understand.

Maryanne can't be more than a couple of years older than Edward, and her small, wiry body with pointed breasts and narrow hips is attractive. It's too curvy to be called boyish, but not ripe enough to be called womanly. But more than anything else, it's the quiet self-confidence she exudes that makes her attractive, like an energy field that sparks blue on contact.

I watch Edward jealously for a reaction, and there's none that I can see. He smiles at her, a brief, non-sexual smile, and shakes his head. "No, I'm fine. I think I'll cash that in by booking some free piano practice time, if that's alright by you? How about Tuesday afternoon? You're closed on Mondays, right?"

Maryanne's smile grows bigger and she blows on her bangs to get them out of her eyes again. "Yeah, that would be great; you should do that." She looks over at me. "Did you know this guy is awesome at playing the piano, too?" She turns back briefly to Edward before walking away towards the bar with her handful of glasses, saying: "But I'm not sure that constitutes a favor. Maybe we'll end up paying _you_ for it, who knows? I love your new hair cut, by the way!" Her hips sway in time with the music, Radiohead's "15 steps", and she looks like a black pixie flying across the room.

It kind of bothers me that she caught on so quickly to the fact that Edward had his hair cut. When Rosalie mentioned it at the table, I felt ashamed that I hadn't noticed immediately when he walked in the door. He looks so handsome now that the shape of his head is more visible. The nape of his neck has acquired an almost irresistible pull because I want to feel that short, silky hair under my fingers, prickly and soft at the same time.

"Hm, so you're awesome at playing the piano, _too_?" I say to Edward, arching my eyebrows. "What other kinds of skills have you demonstrated to Maryanne."

Edward just shakes his head again, purses his lips and looks up at the ceiling. "Oh, you know, nothing much. I told her about my research, finding a cure for cancer, threw some back flips and told her how I won several national Chess contests. It was nothing worth mentioning, actually." He raises his eyebrows, giving me that crooked smile that makes my heart thump louder in my chest. He drops the smile and turns more serious, as if sensing my brief pang of jealousy.

"No, like I told you, I dropped in and used their new piano on my way home Friday, that's all." He shrugs. "It felt good, and there weren't a lot of people around so I think I'll come back and practice again when they'll let me. You wanted me to play for you sometime, right? Maybe you could come with me? But should probably wait a couple of weeks until I get the hang of it again; I feel kind of rusty." He makes a face.

"Did you use to play a lot in public? I mean, while you were still taking lessons?" I'm curious. Edward seems to be one of those self-deprecating guys who just can't admit when he's good at something. Maybe he's a young concert pianist with serious self-esteem issues who's on the run from his European tour, not a college dropout at all. I smile to myself.

He runs his hand through his hair and then his fingers start tracing circles in the condensation on the table top, while he speaks in an absentminded voice.

"I played some concerts, but nothing big, just local recitals, that kind of stuff, where a lot of students play and their families come to listen. And then when I was at home during the holidays, my parents threw parties sometimes and asked me to play for their guests." There's a small frown on his face. "But mostly I've enjoyed playing to myself. There were practice rooms at the school I went to that you could book in advance, and I used to spend hours there when I wasn't studying or running or…doing other stuff."

I smile at him, imagining Edward in a white shirt and dark jacket, brooding over the piano under the white lights of a concert hall, with girls swooning in the seats below, in the shadow of the stage.

"I bet you were always the model student, you sure sound like it," I say out loud. "Studying, running, practicing the piano; what was your GPA?" He looks at me with eyebrows raised, which makes his green eyes catch the light and glow. I notice the faint shadow on his jawline. Don't salivate now, Bella.

"My GPA?" he hesitates. "4.0. Why?"

I smirk at him. "You were a dork, weren't you, Edward Masen? Were you president of the Math club, too? Did you play chess? Or was it computers with you? Did you have a crush on Steve Jobs? Come on, spill."

He ducks his head and actually blushes, looking up at me through his long, black lashes. So not fair. I lose track of my thoughts. What was I saying?

"Bella, don't tease me. I was a dork, okay, but I didn't want to be one. For the record, I was never a member of the Math club, and I only played chess with my Dad." I giggle, then abruptly stop, because I feel silly. Grown women don't giggle in public. Edward is rubbing the back of his neck, his blush subsiding.

"I kind of rebelled against that whole dorky, 'good student' persona for a while when I was a teenager. I caused my parents a lot of grief, but it never affected my grades." He shrugs and looks a bit sheepish. "I guess everyone has a difficult time in high school, one way or another. I went from being this scrawny, smart kid that the big boys picked on and the girls ignored to being tall and rebellious, hanging with the bad boys. It didn't make me feel any more comfortable in my own skin, though. I guess I was still a dork, pretending to be cool." He looks at me, and his eyes are troubled. "I still feel like that sometimes. Like I'm just pretending to be someone that I'm not, waiting for everyone to find out the truth and hate me."

I swallow, because this is the closest Edward's ever come to talking to me about what's really going on in his head. I tentatively reach out and touch his arm.

"Edward, you know that everyone feels that way sometime, right? And it's usually not true. I mean ..." I search for the words, trying to get this right, "... we all have secrets, or feel that there are things we don't want other people to know about us. That doesn't mean that we're pretending all the time, or that other people are deceived about who we are. Look at us." I gesture to the space between us. "So far we both know very little about one another, but in some ways I feel closer to you than to many people I've known for years. I don't know what you've been through, but I know enough to feel sure that you're a good person, no matter what kind of mistakes you've made before I met you. I don't have to know everything about you to know that I could never _hate_ you."

Edward's eyes are blazing now, and his lips are compressed to a thin line.

"Bella, don't say things like that. You can't, you can't fucking _say_ things like that to me." He leans his head into his hands and tugs on his hair, and somehow I can tell that he's not used to how much shorter it is, because his hands look lost and fall helplessly into his lap. I put up a hand to cup his neck, worried.

"What's wrong Edward? What did I say?"

He looks at me, then looks away, but not before I see that his eyes glisten, as if he's on the verge of tears. My heart swells with pity and starts beating anxiously as I wait for him to speak.

His voice comes out husky, but he doesn't cry. "You're too good for me Bella. You trust me, and I feel like a fucking prick because I haven't told you anything about me, not really. And I'm not a good person, I'm really not. A lot of people have reasons to hate me. I just ... I just don't want you to be one of them." He draws a deep breath, then turns his body towards me.

"I want to tell you more about myself because you have the right to know, but I'm so damned scared that you're going to turn your back on me when I do. Because all my life I've disappointed and hurt people, even when I didn't want to, just by being me, and I feel like I just can't take it anymore. I don't want you to be a part of this fucking mess that my life was before I came here. I want …" his voice trails off, and he scowls down into the table. "Oh, what's the fucking use? You should just get rid of me now, before I do something stupid and disappoint you, too."

I almost want to crawl into his lap, but I do the next best thing. I scoot my chair so close to him that I'm trapping him between my body and the wall. I lean forward and grab his face between my hands, forcing him to look at me. In my sternest voice I command him, "Edward, shut up and look at me."

That startles him. I've never spoken to him quite like this before. This is my stop-fucking-around-and-let's-get-to-the-real-problem"-voice. I save it for those students who come to my office and whine about their work, even after I've spent hours coaching them and giving them encouragement, constructive criticism and suggestions. Sometimes you need to push them hard out of the pit they've dug for themselves.

"Yes, I would like it if you told me more about yourself, and yes, I would appreciate it if you trusted me enough to let me help you out with whatever's going on in your life that's troubling you, but don't _ever _presume to know what I would think or feel about you." I've got his attention now, so I let go of his face and gently stroke his cheek with my fingertips before taking hold of his hands, squeezing them for emphasis.

"Maybe you're right, and you will do stupid things, and disappoint me, but so will I most certainly disappoint you." He opens his mouth to protest, but I raise my fingers to his lips and shake my head. He shuts his mouth, and I briefly let my fingers trace his lips before dropping my hand, which earns me a small twitch of a smile, the ghost of his smirk.

"It's what people do, Edward. We have the best of intentions, and then, in spite of everything, sometimes we hurt each other. I'll take my chances, because right now, there's no one else I'd rather be with than you. Even if I don't know the first thing about relationships I know that I would be stupid to walk away from this."

I frown, because I want him to know how much he means to me, but I don't want to freak him out. I wet my lips with my tongue and look him straight in the eye. " I feel as if I've been asleep for years, but now I'm awake and suddenly everything seems a hundred times more real than before. And I don't want to lose that feeling." I lean back in my chair, suddenly shivering and a bit anxious, looking over at Edward apprehensively. What now? Did I say the wrong thing again?

But Edward is just looking at me, slowly a smile creeps across his face, tugging at his lips, shining through his eyes. And then he leans forward and squeezes my hand, whispering, "Fierce, Bella. You're fierce. Thank you."

I feel his intoxicating smell. My body is suffused with longing again, as if my skin was covered with iron filigree and he was the magnet. My fingertips, my knees, my nipples all point at him and quiver. I swear I can feel my clit _twitch_ and I want to kiss him so badly I can feel my lips tingle in anticipation. I hear a low growl from deep in his chest, and he whispers, his breath scorching my cheek, "Christ, I want to kiss you so damn much right now. I miss kissing you. Can we get out of here soon?"

I laugh, breathless, scoot my chair back and stand up to break the spell. "Funny, I was thinking the exact same thing. I'll text Rose and tell her to clear out if she hasn't already. I'll just ask Tony if I could have my book back and then we can leave, okay?" Edward is looking up at me, and I think that look has to be described as_ smoldering, _because it sure makes me feel a lot warmer. Then he smiles, straightens up and nods.

"That sounds good. I'll go to the rest room and then I'll come find you."

I pause to fish out my cell phone and quickly text Rose. _I hate you. Are you done? Get out, please, I want to come home now. Bella _

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**A/N: Maybe there's finally some progress here? Edward seems to be trying to open up more, and Bella really wants to let him in. Are Tony and Maryanne potential threats or friends? Is Bella ready for some more alone-time with Edward? *wiggling eyebrows* Please tell me what you think – just like Edward, I love to hear your theories! ;)**


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: Disclaimer - Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. Thanks are due once again to my hardworking beta, Trekgeezer, who gently tries to beat some feeling for punctuation into my thick skull. (Ouch! Thanks!) And thank you for reading!**

* * *

_The traffic moves around with care,_

_But we remain, touching a wound_

_That opens to our richest horror._

_Already old, the question Who shall die?_

_Becomes unspoken Who is innocent?_

_For death in war is done by hands;_

_Suicide has cause and stillbirth, logic;_

_And cancer, simple as a flower, blooms._

_But this invites the occult mind,_

_Cancels our physics with a sneer,_

_And spatters all we knew of denouement_

_Across the expedient and wicked stones._

Karl Shapiro, from Auto Wreck

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**Chapter 25**

**BPOV**

I pause to fish out my cell phone and quickly text Rose. _I hate you. Are you done? Get out, please; I want to come home now. Bella _

I worry that she's probably not in a state to hear her cell phone right now, but within 30 seconds there's a message lighting up my phone. _Sorry about that. Got carried away. We're in the car now. Coast is clear. Talk to you tomorrow?_ I shake my head. Yes, I will definitely talk to you tomorrow, exasperating woman. _Okay. Call me. P.S. You're not forgiven._

I slip my phone back into my purse and look around. The bar is filling up with people. I walk slowly up to the counter where Maryanne and Tony are busy filling orders. Shielded behind the back of a guy waiting for his drinks, I watch while Tony deftly flips around glasses and bottles. It's as if they were balls and he the master juggler. No, he doesn't actually juggle with them, that would be too cheesy, but he handles those heavy bottles and tall glasses as if he could do it blindfolded. He acts as if the shape and weight of everything he touches is ingrained in his hands, as if the measurements are written on the inside of his eyelids. It's kind of fascinating to watch.

After a few minutes I catch his eye. He smiles at me, mouthing "Be right with you," so I sidle to the end of the bar. This way I won't be in the way of the people actually trying to do business here. After another couple of minutes there's a lull. Tony wipes his hands on a towel, says something to Maryanne before walking over to me. He leans across the top of the counter and gives me a smile that somehow makes me think of the Cheshire cat. I'm sure that if he moved, he would leave that smile hanging in the air before my face. His hair looks unnaturally dark, almost pure black, and I briefly wonder if he dyes it.

"So, Maryanne said you wanted to speak to me; what's going on? Did you want me to make you a special drink?"

I can't help looking at his piercings. Like Maryanne, he has a steel ball in his tongue that glints faintly when he speaks, and the rings and barbells in his eyebrows, lips and ears somehow make him look masculine instead of feminine. I wonder how common it was for men to wear ear rings in Shakespeare's time, and I resolve to look into that when I get the chance. I tear my eyes away from his mouth to look him in the eye. He looks amused. His eyes are a very dark blue with an almost black ring around the iris. He smells like cigarettes and something metallic and faintly like vanilla.

"Do you like my piercings?" he asks. I feel embarrassed that I can't help being so obvious.

"Sorry," I mutter. "I was distracted thinking about whether piercing is a recent thing or if it was around in Shakespeare's day." This makes his smile even broader.

"You're funny Bella, you know that? So, what's on your mind – how can I help you?"

Now I feel a little silly asking for my book back, but since he's here I might as well go through with it.

"Actually, I wanted to ask you if I could have that book of poetry back. I realized I need it for referencing for my work next week." This is a lie, but to my own ears it sounds like an okay excuse. Better than "you freak me out and I want to have as little as possible to do with you," anyway.

He looks slightly disappointed, which makes me feel guilty, but hey, I've tried to teach myself to be more selfish so this is a good training exercise. I steel myself against the impulse to say "Never mind, you can keep it," and stare at him silently instead.

He turns around abruptly, walks a couple of steps, fishes something out from beneath the counter, and returns with my copy of "The Cinnamon Peeler," which he slides across the top to me. Without speaking, he rubs his hands together, then puts them in the back pockets of his jeans, as if he doesn't know what to do with them. I pick up the book and rifle through it, automatically checking to see that he hasn't left any personal letters or anything inside it as a bookmark, because I do that all the time. I try to be polite: "So, did you have time to look at it?"

He's not smiling, but the look he gives me seems friendly. "Oh, I've read it, and I liked it. He's a bit too intellectual for me, maybe, but his head is connected to his body. You can feel what he writes." He points to the book, then to me. "You're a very neat reader – that book seemed almost as if it was new off the shelf. I apologize for dog-earing one page that I wanted to show you. You know the poem you told me to read, when I asked for your favorite?" I nod, irritated at the memory of what he'd said to Edward.

"Yes, Edward mentioned that you had some kind of theory when he dropped in here on Friday. What was it?"

He leans forward on the bar for a minute, his arms folded so that all his inked, lightly tanned skin is on display along with his defined muscles.

"Those poems were funny, but I found one that I think you actually like better. You don't have to tell me if I'm right. Just look at it."

I flip the book open to the dog-eared page, faintly disturbed since I try not to mark my books too much. This particular copy happens to have the author's signature in it: "To Bella, Michael Ondaatje." I only met him once when he gave a talk on campus, but I'd like to think that he remembers signing that for me because we talked about the use of metaphors in prose and poetry for 10 minutes. I look at the poem and feel something stirring in me as I read the words. Yes. This touches me, again.

_I write about you/as if I own you/which I do not. As you can say of nothing/this is mine. _

Nothing really belongs to me. Isn't that what life has taught me? Words fail you, fall away when you need them. And people - people never belong to you, however much you want them to. They slip through your fingers like rain.

_When we rise/the last hug/no longer belongs,/is your fiction/or my story./Mulch for the future._

What I'm experiencing right now, with Edward, is like so much fiction. Only it's not my story: I didn't write him, so I don't know who he is. I don't even know who_ I_ am when we are together. I don't _know_ what our story will be; tragedy or comedy.

_Whether we pass/through each other/like pure arrows/or fade into rumour/I write down now/a fiction of your arm_ …

I am aware of Tony watching me; of Tony's arms on the bar counter. Although the bar noise has faded, and sounds muted in my ears beneath the whooshing rhythm of my pulse.

_or of that afternoon/in Union Station/when we both were lost/pain falling free/the speed of tears/_

_under the Grand Rotunda_ _/as we disappeared/ rose from each other…_

Pictures of Chicago blur through my mind: the big windows of Union Station, the wind whipping down Michigan Avenue, walking along the lake with James discussing our future. Then I remember the pain I felt standing in the waiting room of the hospital, my forehead pressed against the cool glass, the pain like a sword piercing my soul, James standing behind me, but no words.

_you and your arrow/taking just/what you fled through_

My little arrow …

I look back up at Tony, and he looks blurry, so I guess there must be tears in my eyes. I shut the book, blink and clear my throat.

"Yes, actually I liked that poem. Very much. Thank you for returning the book. See you around, I guess." But before I can back away from the bar, Tony's long arm whips out and his hand is on my arm, curling around my sweater. His eyes are narrowed, intent on my face.

"Are you okay, Bella? Hell, I'm sorry if I upset you, I didn't mean to…" I shake my head, gently but firmly brushing his hand off.

"It's nothing. Sorry, I just get emotional sometimes. It has nothing to do with you." I smile to show him no hard feelings, and raise my hand in goodbye. Discreetly wiping at my eyes I turn around and walk away looking for the exit, and Edward. I cry for everything and nothing these days. I don't know if it's a sign that I'm emotionally disturbed or a side effect of middle age setting in.

I spot Edward on the other side of the room. He's talking to some guys who are setting up amplifiers and microphones on the stage. When I catch his eye he wraps up whatever's going on between them, shakes hands with one and quickly joins me. With one hand protectively splayed across my lower back he propels me gently towards the door. His warm body is a reassuring presence by my side. Even this casual kind of touch feels amazing, and I find myself leaning into him. Once we're out on the street in the cooler evening air, he wraps his arm lightly around my shoulders and asks me: "Everything okay? Did you hear from Rosalie?"

I nod. "Yes, they're out of the house by now. She apologized by the way. I guess that apology is as much for you as for me."

Edward glances down at me. "Do you think she meant it?"

I smile, mirroring his crooked smile. "No."

Edward sighs and pulls me closer. "Was it Nietzsche who said _Love is never having to say you're sorry_?"

I giggle. "Actually, I think that was Donny Osmond. Nietzsche retweeted it and added: _When love doesn't kill you it makes you stronger_. Or was it: _Saying you're sorry doesn't kill you_?"

Edward laughs and tickles me playfully. I pull away with a squeal and then tickle him right back. This makes him squirm away and explode with laughter. Then we stagger back and forth for a minute before finally calling a truce, since we're both obviously too ticklish to win this game. I catch a couple of girls on the sidewalk looking at us incredulously and I sober up. I wonder briefly whether they're judging us because we're acting drunk and silly or because they can't fathom why someone as young and gorgeous as Edward is out with someone like me instead of them. They're not wrong, whatever they're thinking. But they're not my problem. I speed up, clutching Edward's hand, eager to get home and start kissing him.

The house is dark when we get back. I kick off my shoes and quickly check the kitchen to see that no perishables have been left out on the counter. I pull Edward towards my bedroom, stopping abruptly when I realize that maybe this is too forward. My face heats up when I ask:

"Did you want to talk now, or do something; I mean, watch a movie or have something to eat or anything? … "

He steps closer to me; so close that our bodies are perfectly aligned. I can feel his chest pressing against my breasts and his hip bones digging in to the softness of my stomach. His warmth feels delicious. Edward slowly removes the elastic band, then runs his hands through my hair, his fingertips scraping my scalp gently. I almost moan out loud.

"The only thing I want to eat right now is you, Bella." I do moan then, when his lips touch mine. He gently nips my bottom lip, soft and insistent at the same time. Before I know it, soft kisses turn heated. I slide my tongue along the silky soft wetness of his, before sucking on his bottom lip and biting down gently. This makes him press against me harder so that I stumble back against the wall. My eyes roll back in my head when I feel his tongue licking my lower lip to the corner of my mouth. It feels so erotic, almost as if he were licking my center. I run my hands under his shirt and across his stomach to feel the warm skin and the soft hardness of his abdomen, reveling in the sounds of pleasure my touch teases from him.

His nose burrows into the skin behind my ear, his left hand fisting my hair. He inhales, muttering "You smell so damn good, Bella. It must be fucking illegal to smell this good." He's impatiently pulling my sweater off for better access, then kissing his way down my throat before biting down on my shoulder. I go weak in the knees and clutch onto him for dear life. I'm feebly tugging on his shirt, because now I really need to feel more of his skin.

Edward breaks off, and lets go of me, only long enough to tear the shirt over his head. I swear I can hear buttons popping and scattering on the floorboards. I wriggle my arms out of the bulky white sweater, letting it drop to the floor. When he dives in again, I sigh softly with relief into his mouth, relief to feel his warm chest and strong, bare arms. Now I'm able to run my hands from the silky hair at the nape of his neck down, down, across the wide expanse of his naked shoulders and back to the dimples above his ass. I almost succeed in squeezing my hands beneath his jeans and boxers to feel the beginning of the delicious swell of his ass cheeks.

His exhale is a low purring in his chest. He flexes his hips forward and pulls me towards him so that I can feel his erection through the barrier of his trousers. His tongue is pressing into my mouth, as if he wants to invade me with every part of his body, right now. I can't resist palming his cock, just to feel the effect I seem to have on him, but when he grinds against my hand I break the kiss to come up for air and gasp:

"I need a human moment, Edward. Bathroom break, okay? My bed in five minutes?"

His hands cup my face and he rests his forehead against mine, with closed eyes, breathing hard. Then he opens his eyes to stare into mine. His gaze is so filled with desire that I feel a shiver run through my body. "Three minutes," is his only comment. He kisses my nose and spins around in the direction of his room, deftly bowing to sweep his shirt from the floor on his way through the hall.

I walk swiftly through my bedroom on wobbly legs, picking up what I need before locking myself in the bathroom. I quickly shed the dress, leaving it in a pile on the floor, along with my underwear. Ha! I won't be wearing that again anytime soon! I use the toilet, brush my teeth, and take a super quick shower just to freshen up, before slipping into my sleep shorts and a decent t-shirt. I almost wish that I had some silky camisole to look more seductive in, but I feel more comfortable like this, in normal sleepwear. When I walk out into my bedroom, I find Edward waiting for me under the covers, on his back with his arms folded behind his head. He looks like a statue of a Greek god, longlimbed and gorgeous, with very little hair on his arms and chest. When he smiles at me I know I'm in trouble. I feel like prey, but a very willing sort of prey.

"I can't get over how beautiful you are," he says, lifting the covers and stretching his arm out, inviting me into his embrace. His eyes are glowing green and intense. I snort briefly, sliding in beside him, and mumble: "You stole my line."

Oh, there it is - the wonderful Edward-smell - like clean laundry and musk and summer mornings! I snuggle into his warm body, hugging him and tangling my feet with his. I'm tingling all over. It's like coming home. Weird but true.

Suddenly he rolls over, pinning me on my back, and stares down at me with a strange expression.

"Bella, you do know that you're beautiful, right? You deflect me every time I give you a compliment. Don't. I say it because it's true, not because I think I should say it or any such bullshit. Listen: You. Are. Beautiful." I squirm under his words. Silly boy, why does he do it? Can't we just leave it alone? I scowl up at him.

"Okay, Edward, you've made your point, you think I'm beautiful. Actually, I think you've got it backwards, because you're the one who's so gorgeous that girls' jaws drop to the ground with a clanking sound wherever we go. But what do I know? I'm just the backdrop everybody ignores." I can feel my expression soften when I see his troubled face. I release my hand to gently trace the outlines of his face, stroking my fingers through his hair.

"Hey," I whisper. "I'm sorry if I'm not so good at this. I've never felt pretty, and it's hard to change a lifetime of knowing you're average, or less than average. Sometimes I feel so out of my league with you. It's like there's no reason for you to want to be with me, it's not logical."

Edward sags, for a moment resting his weight on top of me, as he presses his face into my shoulder. Then he rolls off of me and lies on his side, running his hand over my arm and chest, coming to rest on my stomach. My t-shirt has ridden up, exposing my skin above the sleep shorts, and his thumb runs circles there. I tense, then tell myself to relax. This is Edward, and I love his touch.

He swallows, and when I see his Adam's apple bobbing I immediately want to kiss his throat.

"Bella, we need to talk."

Now I feel cold, because those words never mean anything good in my experience. Then I remind myself of our conversation in the bar, and I know it's true: we need to talk. I raise myself up on my elbow, facing him, and lean forward to softly, reassuringly, kiss him on the mouth before settling down. My gaze is locked on his face, which looks golden in the yellow light from the bedside lamp.

"Okay, let's talk."

"First of all, I have every reason to want to be with you. I don't care if girls think I look good; I never cared. No, that's not true. At first I was kind of high on their admiration and let them fawn all over me, but that got old quickly. You see, not one of them saw who I really was. They didn't know me. I could manipulate them because they didn't give a damn about anything beyond what they saw. I got … cynical." He falls back, throwing an arm across his eyes and groans.

"Boy, this is harder than I thought. I don't want you to hate me."

I move over, carefully resting my head on his chest, where I can hear his heart thumping anxiously beneath my ear.

"Go on, Edward. Do you mean that you used a lot of girls for sex? Is that what you're ashamed of?"

He sighs, and lets his hand run through my hair, as if the movement is soothing to him.

"Well, yes and no. I told you I rebelled against my adoptive parents and I did a lot of partying. You know, underage drinking, some drugs, and I had sex with different girls, but I wasn't some kind of sex machine. It just happened sometimes, but I didn't actively seek them out. They usually came to me."

I swallow, because I can imagine, then I ask tentatively. "So, how many partners have you had? Approximately?"

His silence can't be a good sign. My stomach falls. "You don't know?"

He groans. "No, it's not like that! I've had sex with seven girls before I met you, okay, and I've done … sexual things with maybe ten more. But that was usually just drunken hookups at parties, which never got beyond a lot of sloppy kissing and groping. And before you, I only had sex more than once or twice with two girls, the rest were just…temporary. I made mistakes, a lot of mistakes, and not just with girls."

And now he hides his face in his hands and then tugs on his hair, a sort of desperate look in his eye, as he sits up and leans against the headboard. Staring out into the room, his look is stony.

"Bella, I'm a killer. I've killed people."

The room is silent, except for his breathing, and my heartbeat, which is suddenly loud in my ears.

"How do you mean, Edward?" I finally ask, hesitantly. "You didn't … shoot anybody, did you?"

His face is frozen in a mask of self-disgust.

"I didn't have to pull a trigger, Bella. I just behaved like a selfish, irresponsible shit." He folds his arms defensively across his chest and stares up into the shadowy ceiling, refusing to meet my worried gaze.

"Look, I told you I was a dorky kid, and I didn't have many friends. Then, in high school everything changed. I grew quickly, started running track and working out, became more muscled. When I became a track star people's attitudes toward me turned around. Suddenly I was … popular." He sneers. "And I got a lot of friends – well, people who wanted to hang around with me, include me in their clique. That's how I met Jon. He was on the track team, too, and we became friends. He … he got a scholarship to college and we went together. He was the only person I knew when I started." He sighs.

"I thought … college would be different, but it wasn't. Jon was the only one who knew me, the real me. The thing was, we did a lot of stupid stuff together." He turns his head away from me briefly so that I can't see his face, and I desperately wonder what he's thinking. "My parents didn't like Jon. They thought it was his fault that I started drinking, staying out all night and hanging out with people who did drugs; but it was all me. In the beginning it made me feel …free, like I was cutting myself off from everything. I was rejecting people's expectations of me and who I was; safe, predictable, boring. I felt reckless and cool and sexy. I was fucking stupid, Bella." He glances over at me and his eyes look dark.

"I told you about how girls started hanging around me, wanting attention. Well, one of them was older, someone I really shouldn't have been with." He swallows. "She was the girlfriend of Jon's older brother, Michael. Michael was someone Jon looked up to, but I thought he was a conceited prick. He's the one who supplied Jon with drugs. While we were still in high school he used to let us tag along to parties, where people he knew hung out." He shifts, and moves away from me slightly, hugging his knees to his chest.

"Lindsay liked me, and one night at a party when I was wasted, she surprised me and we had sex in one of the back rooms. It was supposed to be a one-time hookup, or that's what I thought, but then it happened again. It felt good because Lindsay was older and more experienced and I felt it was sort of a spite to Michael. He was so full of himself, and yet he wasn't enough for his own girlfriend." He shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut. "I was so fucking selfish. I thought because Lindsay came on to me and no one knew, I wasn't to blame and no one would get hurt."

I feel surprisingly jealous of this faceless girl, and a bit resentful. This sounds exactly like the people I avoided when I was young - the beautiful, popular, vicious - who got their kicks from putting everyone else down. It's hard to picture Edward as one of them.

"This thing was off and on for a long time. Every time we hooked up, Lindsay initiated it, then it could be weeks or months before I heard from her again. We never talked about what the fuck we were doing, and I thought maybe we were just using each other to have a good time. Like fuck buddies." His posture is rigid and I can see the tendons in his neck standing out.

"Then one night we were all at the house of someone I didn't know; me, Jon and a couple of girls we were going out with at the time. We came in Jon's car, but I was supposed to be the DD. So I was just sipping a beer, watching everyone else get wasted and behave like fools and feeling bored. Then suddenly there was a commotion at the door and shouting. Michael turned up, mad as hell, and lunged for me, calling me all sorts of names. I knew immediately what must have happened, but he really didn't give me a chance to say anything. He just wanted to beat the shit out of me." His voice is expressionless.

"We fought inside; people were screaming and furniture was crashing. Someone tried to break us up, then we were outside and he was swinging for me again. He was high on something, though, and I was pretty much cold sober so I managed to dodge him, then knock him down. Now I was mad, too, so I just sat on top of him and let him have it, hating him for all the times he'd been mean and cut Jon down, hating him for Lindsay, hating him because I was confused and unhappy. I was out of control, Bella."

I sit on the bed, mirroring his position, the blanket wrapped around me because I feel cold. I want to put my arm around him, but he feels so distant right now that I don't think I can.

"Then Jon came and pulled me away from Michael, and I was sort of dazed when I saw that his face was bleeding and swollen. Jon was shouting at me, and somehow he knew what this was about. He knew that I'd been with Lindsay. He didn't try to hit me, he just shook me and told me what a bastard I was. He wanted his car keys so he could drive Michael to the hospital. I felt bad, so I just hurled them at him and swore that he and his fucking brother and his fucking whore of a girlfriend could all go to hell." There are tears in his eyes now, and he swipes at them quickly, as if he doesn't want to acknowledge that they're there.

"I shouldn't have done that, Bella. I should have told him to calm down, and taken them myself, because Jon and Michael had both been drinking. I was just upset, not drunk. But I didn't. So Jon and this girl Sarah helped Michael get into the car and then Jon took off. I heard the engine revving like crazy going down the street, and the brakes screaming as he went around the corner, and then they were gone. They didn't get far though. Jon ran a red light five blocks away from the house. They were hit by a truck. It plowed into the left side of the car, smashed it and sent it spinning into a telephone pole."

I gasp, and curl my hands around the blanket, frozen in shock. "Oh no, Edward ..."

He leans his forehead against his knees, speaking into the bedclothes. "He died, Bella. Jon died. Michael was badly hurt, but he survived the crash because he was in the backseat. The driver's seat was completely smashed in. That should have been me." He turns his head so that I can see his face, and his wet cheeks, and my heart sinks at the sadness and hurt I read in his eyes.

"So, my best friend died because I was a selfish asshole. I didn't have to shoot him, Bella, but he sure as hell died because of me. I killed him."

I get up on my knees and throw my arms around Edward, squeezing his body as close to me as I can and I whisper "Edward, don't. Don't say that. It's not true. You made mistakes, but you didn't kill anyone. That was an accident, you must know that." I can feel him shaking his head and a slow sob wracks his body.

"Bella, I know what I know. People can tell me a hundred times that what happened was an accident, but the truth is it's an accident that would never have happened if I didn't exist. I caused it. So I killed him." He moves, and for a moment I think that he's trying to push me off, but then I realize that he's rolling us over on the bed, hugging me, almost suffocating me with his weight when he leans over me, mumbling into my chest: "And you don't know everything. I kill everything I touch. Everyone who comes near me gets hurt; my parents, my brother, my sister … everyone dies. I'm no good Bella. You shouldn't be with me."

I frown, confused. This is crazy talk, so I concentrate on soothing him, tangling my fingers in his soft hair. "Sshh, Edward, don't say that. I'm here with you now, and I'm not going anywhere. You won't hurt me, I know you won't. Why can't you believe that you're good for me? You may have done a lot of stupid, hurtful things, but you're still a good person. I can see it in you. There's a light in you Edward, a light that draws people in. It's not just the fact that you're handsome; it's so much more than that. You're kind, and caring and you have a good heart. Why do you think that people like me and Kate and Carmen and Rosalie all decide to let you in, to help you? Because we can see that you deserve it."

Edward draws a long, shuddering breath. "I'm sorry for dragging you into my shit, Bella. I need you so fucking much or I wouldn't be here right now, putting all of this on you. Especially tonight, when all I really wanted was to make love to you and make you feel good. Oh, sorry," he mutters when I gently press on his chest to get him to shift some of his weight away from me.

We end up lying side by side, facing one another again. I give him a small smile as my fingertips follow his wet cheek and his jawline, my thumb brushing across his lips.

"That's okay. We needed to talk, you're right. And we've got all the time we need for the rest." Although in my heart of hearts I realize I don't actually know how much time we have. Edward probably thought he and Jon would have time to be friends until they graduated from college, but that friendship was taken away from them in the blink of an eye. We can never know, only hope.

Edward sort of groans, and his hand squeezes my waist. "Not nearly enough time for all the things I really, really hope to do with you, Bella. I'm sorry, I am. Let me make it up to you." He kisses me softly, small kisses raining down on my face, my hair, my throat and my hands, enough to make me giggle and sigh.

"Did you … did you talk to Michael and Lindsay after the accident?" I ask, hesitantly, not wanting to push him back into his sadness again. Edward's face is serious. He seems to frown at my mouth, watching it intently while his hand moves in slow circles across my hip and lower back.

"I went to Jon's funeral, but Michael wasn't there; he was … still in the hospital. I sat in the back, kind of hoping that no one would see me. It was so weird. I was Jon's friend, so I needed to be there, but at the same time I was afraid that his parents blamed me for his death, and would throw me out if they saw me. I still don't know how much they learned about what happened that night. In the end they were too torn up to think about me, I guess, so nothing happened. But I saw Lindsay. She was there and she cornered me before I could run away from her." He pulls me closer, resting his chin on my head, tucked in by the hollow at the base of his throat, where I can feel his voice vibrate as he speaks.

"She told me they had been falling apart for some time, and that night they had both been drinking and were quarreling. When Lindsay told Michael that she wanted to break up with him, he taunted her, since he was an asshole, and told her how many girls he had lined up, just waiting to take her place. That's when she told him about me. Of course she had no idea just how angry he would be or what he would do. Once he'd taken off she tried to get ahold of me, but I didn't have my cell turned on, so then she called Jon." He sighs into my hair, reflexively pressing his body to mine. "She felt bad, because of all the times when she could have broken up with Michael, this was the worst. Now he was in the hospital and his brother was dead; the whole family was fucking hurting. But she didn't think he'd want to see her again, even though his family encouraged her to come to the hospital. She was a mess."

"So, did you two start seeing each other then, after she and Michael broke up? Was that why she broke up with him, so she could be with you?" My question is timid, but I remember Edward telling me that he had no relationship experience before and I wonder if this is the closest he has been to one.

I can feel him shaking his head. "No. There was just no way we could be together after that. We both regretted what happened so much that it was painful just seeing one another. I still have no idea why she thought seeing me on the side was a good idea, but I was enjoying myself too much to say no at the time."

"What is she like?" It's sort of stupid of me to ask, but I feel that in my fantasy it's even worse; she's this gorgeous, leggy blonde looking faintly like Heidi Klum.

Edward's hands are on my back, one hand playing with my hair, the other tracing random patterns across my t-shirt. His voice is thoughtful.

"She was nice to talk to, smart, funny. She was a little wild, liked to run and climb and ride a mountain bike. She's tall, pretty, but not in an obvious way, has dark hair and hazel eyes. She tans easily and since she spent a lot of time outdoors in the summer, she had these funny overlapping tan lines from her sport gear and her bikini." Suddenly his movements stop, and he pulls back to make eye contact with me, frowning. "Do you really want me to talk about her?"

I swallow. "No, not really, it's just, I want to know about what's important to you, in your life."

He smiles and kisses my forehead, nuzzling my hair, and his voice is muffled when he says:

"She's not important right now. Right now, _this_ is what's important to me, Bella. Being here, with you."

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**A/N: Whew, so finally Edward got a little something off his chest! But there are some ghosts hovering in Bella's past, too, hmm? So, do **_**you**_** think that Edward is a killer or not? Is Bella too starry-eyed? Please let me know what you think, if you have the time! And thank you for reading! These days, with BD2 press tour going on, I don't know how anybody finds time to get off Twitter! Woohoo! Four more days until the BD2 premiere, people! Okay, I'll shut up now … (Citrus coming up next!)**


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: Disclaimer - Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. A big shout-out to my hardworking beta, Trekgeezer, who edited this chapter in record time! (Even as I keep repeating the same mistakes. Sorry.) Early update, since I have to work this weekend. Hope you'll enjoy this! **

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_I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning,_

_How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn'd over upon me_

_And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue to my bare-stript heart,_

_And reach'd till you felt my beard, and reach'd till you held my feet._

Walt Whitman: Song of Myself, stanza 5

* * *

**Chapter 26**

**BPOV**

Edward smiles and kisses my forehead, nuzzling my hair. His voice is muffled when he says:

"She's not important right now. Right now, _this_ is what's important to me, Bella - being here with you."

I smile into his chest, and feel some of the tension seeping out of me as I exhale. I let my hands roam his skin, making butterfly patterns across his back. I feel the shape of his hip and then his naked ass, which I can't help squeezing, hard. Suddenly I'm impatient; I feel like growling. I kiss his shoulder, sinking my teeth into the muscle because he feels so good I could eat him up.

Edward whimpers, and flips me over so that he's hovering above me. He catches my lips with his mouth, sliding his tongue along mine, invading my mouth almost as if he wants to swallow my tongue. The feeling is mutual. One of his hands tangles in my hair, keeping my head in place for a deep kiss. His other hand slides up beneath my t-shirt, squeezing my breast and flicking my nipple with his thumb. I make a strange, strangled noise into his mouth as my nipples harden and my center aches.

"Oh, God!" is the only coherent thing I say, the rest is just wet noises as we kiss and bite and lick each other wherever we have access. Now he sits up, grabs my t-shirt and looks a question at me. I quickly lean over to turn off the bedside lamp, suffusing the room in darkness. Then I help him pull off my shirt and wriggle out of my sleeping shorts.

There's a sort of shock to my system when he lies down on top of me and our bodies make full, naked contact with one another. It's like a small supernova going off in my groin, an electric shock of pleasure and excitement spreading through my body. This makes me feel weak and full of sexual energy at the same time. I want him so much I think I'm going to spontaneously combust right now if he's not inside me within thirty seconds.

We kiss, and it's the crazy, wild sort of kissing where you feel as if you're a vampire, ready to consume the other person completely. I want to turn him inside out and suck his essence out, lap up the sweetness of him, as if he were a mango, leaving only his soft skin. In this moment I know that I will _never _have enough of Edward, not if I live a hundred years. When I wrap my hand around his erection he shudders, and I shudder with him, because he feels so damned good in my hand. I can't wait to have him in my mouth or feel him sliding inside me. He rocks into my hand, and then I feel his fingers gliding between my lower lips, circling my clit and experimentally inserting first one, then two fingers inside me. He sighs into my ear.

"You're so wet, Bella. I love how wet you are. I want to taste you, okay?" He doesn't really need my permission, he should know that by now, but I nod and make a strangled affirmative noise as he pushes himself down on the bed, only to land between my eagerly spread thighs. I throw my arms across my face and bite down on my arm as I feel him spreading me and blowing on my clit before gently nuzzling and licking his way up and down. The first touch always feels so intense that I buck my hips and groan. I feel him chuckling as he presses down on my hips to hold me in place.

I can't believe how erotic it feels knowing that Edward loves tasting me. If I ever doubted that, the appreciative noises he makes now vibrate through my center and are audible testament to the fact that he's enjoying himself. I don't hold back, letting him know with whimpers and sighs how much I appreciate his tongue and his fingers pumping in and out of me. Nothing has ever felt this good before. But at a certain point I know that I want to come with him inside me, so I wriggle a little, pulling on his shoulders. "Please, Edward, please, I need you inside me."

He freezes for a second, then pounces on me with a sound between laughter and a moan. Kissing me again he pins me down with his delicious weight, so that I feel completely enveloped and very much desired. His erection is pressing into my hip. I wriggle a bit, locking my legs around his waist so that his cock becomes firmly lodged between my thighs. It slips back and forth in the wetness there with every thrust of his hips. I love the taste of me on his lips; it's salty and musky and sweet all at the same time. We smell like sex and sweat and us, and it's the best thing I've ever smelled. I don't think I'm _ever_ going to change these sheets.

"We need a condom, Bella, hang on," Edward whispers breathlessly. He reaches over the side of the bed, sits up, rips the foil with his teeth and rolls the condom on carefully. His hands tremble, whether from emotion or impatience I don't know. I can see enough of him in the faint light from outside to know that he is truly gorgeous as he hovers above me, naked. He seems both vulnerable and awesome in his desire for me. I want to give myself to him; I want to lose myself in him, and I want him to do the same with me.

I reach out and he lowers himself, holding his weight off me as he settles between my legs. He carefully pushes inside me, while I fist my hands in his hair. I don't recognize the sound I'm making. I only know that it's 90 percent pleasure and 10 percent pain. It's not physical pain, but the pain from feeling as if your heart is about to burst with emotion. My eyes tear up, and I pull on Edward's shoulders until he is pressed flush against me. I don't care if I can't breathe. I just want to savor this feeling of being completely at one with him. Soon enough, though, we are both impatient to move. As he starts pulling out and pushing in, supporting himself on his elbows, I feel something primal and raw igniting in me. "Harder, please. Fuck me harder." I pant, surprising myself and Edward with the gritty sound of my voice.

He curses, and complies, gradually increasing his force and his pace. Sitting back, he pulls my legs up against him for better access. He slides deeper and hits a spot that feels sensitive in the very best way. I moan with abandon. "Yes, please. More." And as Edward pulls one of my legs across his shoulder, letting the other one slide down, he starts to really pound into me. I feel the pleasure building, building, reveling in the feeling of being completely exposed and enveloped. I'm completely his, only his, and I almost scream my release into the dark room. I hear him curse, jerkily thrusting a few times before he collapses half on me, half beside me on the bed.

After a moment Edward carefully pulls out of me. He ties the condom up before dropping it on the floor, then curls into me. Slinging his leg across my hip and pulling me to his chest, he buries his nose in my sweaty hair.

"That," he sighs, "was absolutely the fucking most sexy thing I've ever experienced in my life."

I giggle weakly. "Oh, really? I guess you stole my line again."

"Bella, you have to promise me that you'll ask me to fuck you harder again sometime, because that is the biggest turn-on. Can't lie. Anytime you want to get me horny, just talk dirty. I guarantee I'll be pouncing on you in no time." He kisses my cheek, and I feel his smile on my skin.

"You mean like … _lick my pussy ._.. or ... _I need your hard cock now _… or ... _bend me over the couch and fuck me hard, baby_?" I ask playfully, even though I know that beneath the cover of the dark I'm blushing at the words coming out of my mouth.

Edward groans and his grip on me tightens. "Woman, you can't say things like that when it's only minutes since I came. I want to do dirty, unspeakable things to you right now, and I can't. Or, wait, maybe I can…" He grinds his hips into mine, and I swear I can feel his cock twitching. "Do it again," he pants, only half joking.

I laugh, but at the same time I'm turned on, too, by the turn this conversation is taking. I lick his ear and bite on his earlobe as I whisper with my best sexy voice: "Edward, I need your cock. I want to lick your cock like a lollipop and suck on it until you come in my hot, wet mouth. I want to ride your hard length until I come screaming your name. I want you to fuck me hard, then harder, until I forget my own name. I want to …" I squeal with surprised laughter as he flips me around, so that he is pressed against my naked back. An unmistakable, growing erection presses between my ass cheeks. He palms my breasts and licks my throat, then his teeth nip on the sensitive spots down my neck and shoulder.

"You … will … be … the death of me," he pants, while rolling my nipples gently between his fingers. He then slides his left hand down between my legs, spreading my thighs for better access. "You're so ready for me, Bella," he groans. "_Are_ you ready for me?" I nod emphatically, feeling excitement roll through my body. My center and my nipples are aching for more of his sweet attention. I feel dirty and good and elated at how much power I seem to have over this sexy man!

He lets go of me just long enough to retrieve a new condom from the floor, and I roll over and have time to briefly wonder when he stashed them there. Now he's giving me the condom, asking me with a smile: "Would you do the honors, Bella?" I smile back at him as I crawl up on my knees. Leaning in to kiss him, I take the condom in one hand while I grip his semi-erect cock with my other hand. I squeeze him firmly and experimentally slide my hand up and down, enjoying the silky skin and solid warmth of him. I feel him growing with every stroke.

I nudge his stomach, so that he slides down on his back, then settle myself between his legs. I lower my mouth to lick his smooth head, I swirl my tongue around him before sucking him into my mouth as far as he will go. I'm proud to hear him cursing and biting down on his fist to still the jerking of his hips. The instinct to push is hard to resist. I find my rhythm, licking, sucking, stroking. I enjoy his soft moans of pleasure when I do something he particularly enjoys, like playing with his balls or licking the sensitive ridge on his cock.

When I feel satisfied that he can't possibly get any harder, I pause to say, "Edward, look at me." He raises his head, dazed, and sits up on his elbows to watch my face. "Do you like it when I suck your cock, Edward?" He gives a shaky sigh and nods his head. I can't believe I'm doing this, but I feel completely empowered when I let his cock slide in and out of my mouth a few times, watching him through my lashes, making appreciative noises. "Mmmm, I love sucking your cock, Edward. Do you know what I would love even more?" He makes a kind of whimpering sound, and shakes his head. "I would love to impale myself on your hard cock and ride you until I cum screaming your name. Would you like that, too?"

"Yes, fucking yes!" he almost shouts, and then he snatches the condom away from me, too impatient to wait for me to make a show of it. I sit back, excited and amused, while he hastily rolls it on. He pulls me toward him and helps me position myself above him. He finds my hot, wet center with the tip of his erection and then pulls me down. It feels incredible. I clutch onto his shoulders and whimper softly at the feeling of being so filled by him. I think he feels it, too, because he moans into my skin. His mouth seeks out my nipple, sucking hard, while he palms my other breast and squeezes my ass.

I start moving, and this feels so good. It's the angle, the depth and the way my clit rubs against him every time I touch down. I'm already beyond excited and I don't think I can last very long. His hands on my hips guide me. He pulls me down and pushes me up, putting more power into my movements. For a moment I remember my porn star persona and palm my own breasts, squeeze my nipples and moan, as I pant out: "Fuck me harder, Edward. Please, that feels so good."

The funny thing is, I mean every word, and I think he knows it, too, because he makes this strangled sound and complies with my wishes. He angles his legs so that I'm supported by his knees, then bounces me up and down like a rag doll on his lap. My eyes roll up into my head as I feel my climax building. I keen out his name when I feel it explode inside me. It touches everything at once in light waves going all the way out into my nipples, my fingers and my toes. He slows down as I collapse forward on his chest. I'm riding out the aftershocks of pleasure as I say meaningless things into his hot skin "… so good, so good … oh, Edward." He gently caresses my hair and squeezes my hip, allowing me time to come down. He's still erect inside me, so I know he didn't cum. Now the angle is kind of uncomfortable, so I extricate myself from him, while he holds onto the condom.

"Bella, if I'd known what kind of beast I would awaken, I wouldn't have dared say anything," he whispers into my cheek. There's a smile in his voice, and I am almost too tired to blush. "Are you sore?" he asks me, some concern evident in the tone of his voice.

I make a quick internal inventory before shaking my head and replying. "No, I'm fine. Really tired, but fine."

Edward rolls me onto my side, so that he's pressed against my back again. I can feel him _there_, a gently nudging presence at the softness of my ass. "Would you be too tired for me to enter you again? I would really like to come in from behind when you're on your side like this. I promise I'll do all the work."

I smile at the mixture of eagerness and guilt I hear in his voice. I part my legs and reach for him, helping him position himself. The angle is kind of hard to get, but after a few attempts he gets it right. With a gentle moan he slides effortlessly home into my warm, welcoming wetness. I'm surprised at how good it feels, even though I am over-stimulated and boneless tired. I can feel him hitting a new spot, the feeling intensified by what I realize is my growing need to pee. I clench my jaw and decide to tough it out. I'm rewarded with a tingle going through my body as he begins to move inside me. Oh. This feels … incredible.

It's something about the position we're in that makes this feel more intense than I expected. He's hitting a sensitive spot and sending small shock waves through my abdomen. The feel of his warm, hard body pressed against all of mine, his arms holding me close, his hands cupping my breasts and playing with my nipples and his mouth panting against my neck makes me feel cherished and overpowered at the same time. For the first time I revel in the feeling of giving up my power, of letting him have me any way he wants me. I submerge myself in the physical sensation of being completely at one with him. He makes small grunting noises as he pushes into me, more urgently now. Gripping my hip and holding my thigh open makes it easier to increase his force and pace, and my whole body moves with his thrusts.

Surprisingly, I feel a new climax starting to build. I grind my hips back towards him, biting into the soft flesh of my arm, which is trapped under my head. I want to turn around, to scratch, to squeeze, to rub myself all over him, yet I'm powerless to do much more than hold still, trying to give him purchase for his steady pounding rhythm. Somehow the feeling of being trapped in his arms heightens the sensation. When he sneaks his hand down to caress my clit, it's all I need to explode in a sudden, sharp orgasm. I sob and jerk under his fingers as he groans and cums, He presses his hips toward my backside as if he could bury himself inside me forever.

We still, breathing hard, He presses his lips against my shoulder repeatedly, murmuring something that sounds like "… amazing, Bella," He hugs me against his body, and I feel cherished. Now that my orgasm is subsiding, an even more insistent need to pee makes itself known. I kiss his arm, turn my head around to try for his lips, and manage a sort of half kiss before I wriggle my ass against him. "That was wonderful," I whisper, "but now I really, _really _have to go to the bathroom. Do you mind?" He immediately lets go of me and extricates himself, not without some difficulty. I fumble around for my shirt in the dark, find it on the floor, and quickly pull it over my head. Next, I feel around for my sleep shorts with my toes. There they are. Once again decent, I switch on the bedside lamp and take off for the bathroom. Stepping on something icky, I discover the discarded condom on the floor, and discreetly take it with me.

As I wash my hands, I briefly study myself in the mirror. My hair is a big crow's nest around my face. I sigh and shake my head. Nothing to do about it now, except twist it together into some sort of braid. Tomorrow, a lot of conditioner and a patient ten minutes with a big comb might ease the worst of the knots apart. Overall, I look less the worse for wear than expected; my face is flushed and my eyes bright. I loosely braid my hair and brush my teeth before returning to the bedroom.

Edward is asleep, his face positively angelic in the soft light of the bedside lamp. I pause for a minute just to watch him, my heart contracting strangely in my chest. That first night, he said he loved me in his sleep. I wonder if I could get a similar confession out of him now? I sigh and look for the used condom on the floor, finding it neatly tied up on Edward's side of the bed. I guess declarations of love don't count unless the person making them is sober and awake. Really, though, what difference should it make? The fact that Edward cares for me is evident in so much of what he says and does. I shouldn't need any verbal or written declarations to feel loved.

I get into bed and turn out the light. Snuggling into his side, I sniff the heady mix that is Edward and sex. Tired, but not ready to sleep, my mind drifts back to our earlier conversation. Edward told me a lot more about himself, which is a good thing. Now, though, I feel conflicted. How do I reconcile the Edward I know with the Edward he's told me about? Which one is real? All those things that happened, that he seems so ashamed of now … I wonder … has he really changed since then? Or, is the popular jerk only on temporary leave?

I'm too tired to figure this out now. I'll just savor this moment, because it's truly a gift. I bury my nose in the soft swirl of hair above Edward's smooth forehead, and smile when he reflexively slings his arm around my waist, pulling me closer to him. As I drift into sleep, I feel something tugging at my consciousness, something weird that Edward said … but I'm too tired to think anymore, and the soft darkness gently pulls me under.

When I wake up it's after seven and Edward is gone. I feel a twinge of disappointment. He must have been awfully quiet, because I'm not normally a heavy sleeper. I stretch my limbs like a cat, smiling at the memory of the amazing sex we had last night. Then I blush and groan into the blankets as it all comes back more vividly to me. What the hell did I say? Who knew I had _that_ in me? When I bury my face in Edward's pillow, I can still smell him, and a warm sensation of longing and tenderness rises like a wave through my body. It's as if he is my life now - the best part of it, anyway. I sigh. Too bad I didn't meet someone like him earlier, but then maybe I did. It's just that Edward is the first amazing man who has shown a real interest in _me_. Perhaps after all these years of fumbling around, I have finally matured and become someone who amazing men can take an interest in. Hmmm, that's an intriguing theory!

Have I changed that much? I stare at the ceiling. God knows I still _feel _like Bella at seventeen - gawky, clumsy and awkward with people - someone who prefers to stay at home cooking and reading. Maybe I should talk more to Dr. Banner about my childhood? I shake my head as I get up and walk to the bathroom, absentmindedly trying to untangle my hair enough with my fingers so that I can run a brush through it.

I've spent so much time trying to put my childhood years firmly behind me that I've never felt the need to speak about that time to anyone. Going to college was a relief, like pulling an iron shutter down behind me. That's done with! The last time I went to counseling I resisted all probing questions into my formative years, stubbornly insisting that they were average and unremarkable. Divorced parents? Meh, but that's so common. Moving around with my irresponsible mother? That made me adaptable and mature, also not a problem. Being picked on in school? Who wasn't? Shyness bordering on social phobia? Not at all. I just related better to adults than to my peers. Look at my excellent grades for crying out loud!

I close the shower curtain and let the hot water caress and relax me. It's such a cliché anyway, people blaming their childhoods for this and that. You get handed a set of cards, and then you deal with what you're given. I haven't been starved or abused. I never did drugs or had to face a teenage pregnancy. I've just had a hard time facing a world that gives credit primarily to the beautiful and the bold. My biggest mistake was to believe that being with James would change everything; that his beauty and self-assurance could somehow rub off on me. By the time I began to see that it wasn't working out that way, it was too late. I was in too deep emotionally and I'd already altered my life to revolve around him. I can't really blame my mother for any of that crap; that was entirely my fault - which doesn't really make me feel any better about myself. Damn!

I sternly twist the water out of my hair, and rub myself down with a towel. Through the bathroom door I can hear the phone ringing.

Slinging the towel around myself, I fumble with the door, run to the desk and manage to pick the phone up before it goes to voice mail. My long, wet hair is dripping, and I hastily step away from the desk to avoid splashing water on my laptop or any of my notebooks.

"Hello?"

"Hello, is this Bella Swan's residence? This is Dr. Cope calling from Berkeley. Is that you, Bella?"

I feel my throat close as I hear the familiar voice of my boss. She's warm but straight to the point as always. I clear my throat before speaking. I don't want my reply to come out in a shocked squeak. After all, I've been planning this call for a long time.

"Hello, Dr. Cope. Yes, this is Bella speaking. Did you have my number?"

Dr. Cope chuckles. I picture her sitting at her desk, surrounded by books, sunlight streaming in through a single high window that looks out on a green part of campus. She likes to come in to work early in the morning to get things done before everyone starts calling and knocking on her door. I've had a couple of early morning meetings with her, sitting in the visitor's chair on the other side of her desk. It's the only chair she keeps clear of books or papers.

"Well, you haven't been the easiest woman to find. I discovered that you'd cancelled your old cell phone and that your new number couldn't be disclosed. Fortunately the department secretary tracked down a number that you'd left with the administration office when you went on sabbatical. You told me you would be in the Los Angeles area, so I figured this was correct. How are you doing?"

I sit down, pulling the towel more firmly around me, briefly wondering if I should ask to call her back and put some clothes on. I decide it's probably better to keep this brief.

"I'm doing much better, thanks. Next week I'll be handing in my completed manuscript to the publisher. They think they can have the book out by November. I'm sorry I haven't been in touch before. I've been very busy focusing on getting the book done. But I was meaning to call you this week about the fall semester. I guess that's why you're calling?"

Dr. Cope's voice is more businesslike now, and I can almost hear her frowning into the phone.

"Yes, precisely. Actually, I've got some news for you Bella, and I'm not sure how you're going to take it. Are you sure you're feeling okay?"

I feel an icy hand grip my intestines. Oh, no! She's decided to let me go on the grounds of mental instability. Damn, damn, damn! I knew it might come to this.

"Yes, well … I'm fine and I was really looking forward to teaching again. I realize that I've been away for awhile, and perhaps you had to go ahead and make plans without me …" I tell myself sternly not to start crying. Swallowing and blinking my eyes, I'm furious with myself. I'm such a wimp these days!

"No, no, I fear you misunderstand me. I'm not calling to tell you you're not welcome back - far from it. We've really missed you, Bella, not just the students but the staff, too. You're an excellent teacher and a valued colleague. I hope you realize that. No, I'm calling about something rather unexpected. Do you remember the article you sent me earlier this spring; the one that you were going to incorporate into your book on Shakespeare? You know, the one about King Lear?"

I sit up a little straighter, relieved that this is not Dr. Cope giving me the axe. "Yes. You mean the chapter on the anime and the anima in Shakespeare; about King Lear's daughters as projections of his inner, feminine self. What did you think of it? Do you think we could use it in the curriculum?"

Dr. Cope clears her throat. "Well, actually, I thought it was so interesting that I sent it off after a request from a scholarship committee that's giving American scholars a chance to do research and write overseas. They just got back to me, Bella. It seems you've been awarded a Fulbright Scholarship for senior researchers to spend six to 12 months in England. The only problem is, I don't know if this is something you're at all interested in doing. I remember that you've turned down offers to go abroad for extended periods of time before, but I thought maybe now …"

My head is spinning. This is … too much. I try to get a grip.

"Wait, you sent off an application on my behalf, and now you're telling me that I've received a scholarship to go to England?! When? How? Oh, my God! I don't even know what to say …"

Dr. Cope chuckles again, obviously amused at my reaction. "I'm sorry, Bella, I know I should have consulted you before I sent your paper in, but it was really an excellent piece of work. I know you've been talking about wanting to spend more time on research. It seemed like a chance worth taking. You can, of course, always say no. I'm sure they'll find someone else. But take some time to think about it, I can tell this has come as a shock."

I can hear the rustling of papers as she's rummaging on her desk.

"Tell you what, why don't you tell me where to e-mail you the details of how this scholarship works, then you can look it over and get back to me. You know, it would be even better if you could come up to Berkeley so we can meet and settle a lot of things in person. You could sign whatever paperwork is necessary then. If you don't want the scholarship, we have course work that needs to be planned, and I would really like to have you on my teaching staff again. After you went on sabbatical, we managed to cover the hole you left with grad students and a part-time fellow on loan from Seattle. If you're not coming back, I will probably have to recruit someone to take your place for one or two semesters. What do you say? Could you come up sometime before June 25? "

I swallow. Yes, I've been meaning to make that trip. I need to face San Francisco again. What better time than now?

"Yes, of course I could fly up and see you. Why don't you e-mail me the information and suggest a couple of dates that would work for you. I'll get back to you when I've checked travel information, and a couple of other things. Anytime after June 18 would probably be fine. By then I'll be done with the book."

Suddenly I feel chilled. The damp towel I'm wearing has become uncomfortable, and the wet hair, tangled and hanging down my back, reminds me that I still need to work it through with my comb before it dries too much. I leave Dr. Cope my e-mail address and new cell phone number, and we finish the call amicably.

I throw some clothes on then and spend a long time patiently working on the hundreds of little snags and knots in my hair. I think about this unexpected turn of events. Do I want to go to England? What should I do about my stuff that's in storage in San Francisco? Is it too soon to look for an apartment? How am I set for money? Would I need a visa? Will people stare at me a lot when I show up on campus again?

In a sudden moment of clarity, my hands fall limply into my lap and my heart starts to race. Oh, God … what on earth will I tell Edward?

* * *

**A/N: Ta-da! What, indeed, will Bella tell Edward? What do you think? Will she try to hide it from him? Should she go without him? Should she say no to the scholarship? Should they marry and have kids? No, sorry, got carried away there! I loved BD2, but it has interfered with my writing! Did you see it, yet? Please tell me what you think if you have the time; I love to hear what's on your mind!**


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: Disclaimer - Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. My hard-working beta, Trekgeezer has managed to squeeze this chapter in between holiday commitments, for which I am grateful as ever. (Any remaining errors are probably mine, where I messed up and didn't follow her advice.)**

* * *

_Kissing your stomach_

_kissing your scarred_

_skin boat. History_

_is what you've travelled on_

_and take with you_

_We've each had our stomachs_

_kissed by strangers_

_to the other_

_and as for me_

_I bless everyone_

_who kissed you here_

Michael Ondaatje

* * *

**Chapter 27**

**EPOV**

I take a break around ten and walk out through the back door of the café to get some fresh air and text Bella. I smile as I type into my phone. Oh, she's going to love this. She was so damned cute when I snuck out of her bed this morning, her braid curled around her throat, her mouth half open in sleep, her t-shirt riding up to expose the soft skin of her stomach, the blanket twisted around her long legs. I would love to bite those creamy thighs. They bring to mind freshly baked bread. I adjust my jeans slightly to accommodate the swelling this image induces. _Not now, Cullen._

By noon, Bella still hasn't replied. I sneak another text as I pause for a sandwich before the late lunch crowd arrives. By the time my shift ends around three there's still no reply. I frown at my phone. Maybe she didn't turn her cell on because she's working. Or, maybe she's working with her headphones on and can't hear the phone. Maybe she didn't think my messages were worth replying to. My mood takes a turn for the worse. I hurry out the back door, barely acknowledging Jim's grunted "See you tomorrow." I hope that nothing's happened to her, that's all.

When I turn the key in the lock, I'm out of breath. "Bella!" I shout, as soon as I enter the hall. "Bella, are you here?"

She immediately appears in the doorway to her room. Her face is a pale oval, with the light from the windows backlighting her. I relax, and close the door behind me before kicking off my shoes. "Sorry I was shouting. I'm just a bit freaked out that you didn't reply to any of my texts. Did you turn on your cell today?"

Bella runs one hand through her hair, which falls across her shoulders and down her back instead of being gathered in her usual pony tail. I walk closer and see that she's biting her lip, not meeting my gaze. I close the distance between us and hesitantly run my fingers along her cheekbone.

"Hey, are you okay?" I ask softly. "Did something happen today?"

Bella looks up at me, and her brown eyes seem troubled. She's still worrying her lip, and I fight an impulse to tug on it gently with my thumb to release it from the torture.

"Edward, we need to talk," is all she says, before taking my hand and walking with me into the living room. We sit on the couch facing the French windows. My stomach sinks. I clasp her small, cool hand in my rough, dry one. This can't be good. My mind runs a mile a minute, trying to figure out what could have gone wrong. Did Rosalie call and make a stink about us sleeping together – had she caught on, choosing not to say anything? Did Bella receive some bad news from her family? Did she suddenly have second thoughts about us? Have I freaked her out, wanting to have sex with her all the time? Is she leaving me?

She curls her leg underneath her as she sits on the couch, facing me, still holding my hand. Her expression is serious, but calm. Is this how the doctor looks before she tells you you've got cancer?

"Dr. Cope, who's the head of my department, called me today to talk about me returning in the fall. She had some unexpected news that she wanted to share with me." Bella pauses briefly to tug on the soft curls at the back of her neck with her left hand, a gesture I think she's not conscious of. Then her gaze is on me, open and direct.

"It appears I've been offered a scholarship grant to go to England this fall. You remember the book I'm writing on Shakespeare and feminism?" I nod, still not quite sure where this is going. "Well, Dr. Cope submitted one of my articles with an application for the opportunity to go overseas. Now I'm invited to outline my research proposal and get full access to the Bodleian in Oxford and the British library in London."

"When are you leaving, and how long will you be gone?" I blurt out, because that's the first thing on my mind.

Bella's color rises and she grasps my hand with both of hers. "I'm not sure. I haven't accepted yet. There are still a lot of things I have to consider. But if I go, I'll leave in early September and stay until the beginning of spring, or maybe next summer, depending on how well things are going. Now, I want to discuss this with you. What do you think you want to do come August?"

I look at her blankly. I've been so wrapped up in the life we've started building here, that I've managed to block out all thoughts about the future. If I'd asked myself this morning what my plans were, they would have been to simply "stick with Bella." But if Bella's on the other side of the world, that's just not possible. Now, I have to get my shit together.

"Honestly?" I ask, my voice a bit shaky, "I guess I'll find a place to stay near here and keep working at the café, unless I can find another job that pays better. If I need more money, I may have to work two jobs. When I've saved up enough, I might consider going back to school, maybe part time, either here or somewhere else on the west coast. When you come back, maybe I could come and look you up at Berkeley, who knows?"

Bella is running her thumbs in circles across the back of my hands, an intense expression on her lovely face.

"I know you don't want to talk about your past before you came here, and I respect that, but I still have to ask: what about your family? Your friends? Is there no one else you want to get in touch with? Did your parents help pay for college? Did they wash their hands of you because of the things you did?"

I shake my head. "My … parents were disappointed in me when all that shit came down. They demanded that I change or they wouldn't support me anymore. There's really no way I can contact them right now. Maybe one day. Right now I'm on my own, and that's how I want it to be. This is okay, Bella." I look at her, trying to convey with a firm look that I don't want any special favors. It's not her job to worry about my future.

Bella frowns, looking uncomfortable.

"I'm sure your family would have been upset to know that you were living like a homeless person when I met you. If you're so sure that they won't want to help you, or if you don't think you can ask for their help, then I insist that you let me help you."

"Bella, I ..."

"No, please, Edward. Even if I leave the country for a year and you have to stay here, that doesn't mean our contact will have to be severed. Maybe we won't be together after this summer, but I still want to be your friend. I … I don't want to let you go."

It's painful to breathe. The thought of not seeing Bella, not touching her, is fucking unacceptable. But it might be unavoidable. I discover that I'm squeezing Bella's hands in a vice grip and she's wincing slightly. I immediately let go of her, pulling back on the couch and swearing to myself.

"Sorry, that was … I'm such a fucking caveman. Did I hurt you?"

Bella shakes her head and slides forward so that she can touch me again, putting her hand on my leg.

"I'm not fragile; you can't hurt me that easily. The only way you can really hurt me is by pulling away from me, shutting me out. I won't leave you unless I know that you're safe and that I can still keep in touch with you and know how you're doing." Her eyes are almost shooting sparks right now, and I feel weak in the knees when I see and hear her determination. Then I remember what Rosalie said about Bella's commitment to her students. Maybe that's all this is: her habit of taking a personal responsibility for young people in her care? I don't like that thought.

"There's something else." Her voice changes. "I have to go to San Francisco next week to see Dr. Cope and settle a couple of things, regardless of what happens with the scholarship. At first I thought I would just fly up there and back the next day, but then I thought that maybe you would like to come with me."

I hesitate. "If you want me to come, I could check my work schedule ... but I don't have a valid ID, Bella, so I don't think I would be able to buy an airline ticket and get on a plane."

Bella nods. "No, I thought about that part. If you want to come, we would take the Volvo and drive Highway 1. I've always wanted to go along the coast, but I never got around to doing it on my own. If we make one overnight stop on the way up and down it would be like an extended weekend trip. What do you think?"

I can't help smiling at the thought of having Bella all to myself for days. And the fact that she wants to include me in her plans like this is great. It means that I'm important to her, maybe almost as much as she is to me. And that is a good thing for _me_, but probably a bad thing for _her_. I cringe inside.

"I have to talk to Kate, and I would have to know which days so that we could plan my schedule around it. She'll tell me if she thinks it's okay. Other than that, I would love to go. Thank you, Bella."

She smiles, and unexpectedly scoots over, climbing into my lap. She puts her arms around me and presses her cheek against mine. I am acutely aware of her softness, her heady smell and the fact that I haven't had time to shower after work yet. My hands hesitantly circle her waist, gently pressing her against me, enjoying the warm solidity of her. She hugs me in silence for a minute, then just as quickly scrambles out of my lap and stands up, twisting her hair in her hands to form a haphazard knot on her head.

"Sorry, I've wanted to hug you all day." Her face is embarrassed, but her grin is the goofy, happy kind that I love to see on her face. It makes her look like the little girl I imagine she once was. I wish I had been there for her then.

"That's all right." I stand up and cup her glowing face in my hand for a moment. "I've been dying to get home and hug you all day, too. Hey," I add softly, "did you see my text?"

She leans her head into my hand, and I enjoy how soft her cheek feels in my rough palm.

"Yes. Thank you. I never enjoyed texting before, but I think I'm going to look forward to that sound from now on. Sorry that I didn't reply, though, I was kind of preoccupied. I promise to do better next time." She scrunches her face up in an apologetic gesture and smiles at me.

I nuzzle her cheek, but before we can get too close, I back off, saying: "Sorry about how I smell, by the way, I'm going to go shower now. Do we need to go anywhere? When do you want to go for a run?"

"I don't think we need anything in the way of groceries, and it would be much nicer to run closer to sundown when it's cooler outside. I've been thinking, how do you feel about doing something together, like going to a concert or a museum? I mean, maybe not today, but sometime … Is that something you would be interested in?" She looks unsure but expectant, like a kid asking if Christmas comes early this year.

I shrug my shoulders, memories flashing by of the Chicago Art Museum, vast open spaces and cool marble floors. I think of Esme, mesmerized by her favorite Impressionists, while I looked around until I found a painting I could escape into. I'd stand there, fantasizing about the people in the picture, imagining my life as somebody else.

"Sure, if you've got any ideas of what you want to do, tell me. If I'm free, of course I'll go with you." I guess this makes me pussy whipped, but I don't care. If my time with Bella is limited, I want to make the most of it. And the happiness on her face is enough of a reward, really.

"Okay, go take your shower. I'll be in my room working in case you need me." Bella gives me a quick kiss on the cheek and disappears to her room. I watch the smooth sway of her hips, fantasizing about undressing her right here in the middle of the living room.

When I walk into my room there are some clothes on my bed that I don't recognize; a dress shirt, dress pants and a tie. There's a pair of shiny black shoes on the floor. I frown. Did Bella get me these? I don't know how I feel about her spending money on me. On the one hand, it's probably hypocritical, since I've been living off her since we met, but on the other hand, I don't like the thought that her kindness to me should cost her actual cash. She's already gone out of her way for me, and I hope she knows that I don't expect anything from her. Well, not expect, but a guy can hope, right? I smile. If we're not going out until later I know how we could use our time …

After my shower I put on some clean underwear, socks and the new clothes and shoes. I should probably try to find a dark jacket if I want to complete the outfit. I look in the mirror. The green of the tie brings out the green in my eyes. I didn't like my eye color when I was a kid. It was just another thing that was weird about me. No one else in my family looked like me, only emphasizing my feeling of being the odd person out. Esme told me I looked like my mother, but I didn't _want _to look like her. She was the first person to reject me, the first person to recognize my inborn worthlessness. My only defense has been to reject the memory of her.

I pad down the hall to Bella's room. Her door is open and she is sitting at the desk working on her laptop, with her back to me. Her hair is still up in a messy bun, and she is casual in her usual t-shirt and jeans. Bella smiles over her shoulder at me when she hears me walk up, then her eyes widen when she takes in my appearance.

"Wow, Edward! Those clothes look really good on you. You look like a model!" She turns around and stares at me, and I have to smile at the look on her face. When she notices my smile she blushes. "Sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel objectified."

"Don't worry about it. It's nice to be appreciated." I step closer and carefully run my hands over her hair, letting my fingers trail around her face and trace the column of her neck. She shivers under my touch.

"Did you buy these for me?" Bella nods, looking a bit apprehensive, but before she can start explaining or apologizing I cut her off.

"Thank you. It's nice that you want to do things for me, but I'd be just as happy if you didn't. You know that, right?" She nods again, more slowly this time.

"I know. You've never asked me for anything, but I hope you don't mind. I don't want to hurt your feelings."

I kneel in front of her so that I can face her, cupping her chin, stroking her cheek with my thumb.

"I feel a bit uncomfortable at the notion of being kept by a woman, but as long as that woman is you, I think I can bear it. Just, don't waste money on things I don't really need. You should use that money on yourself." I lean in and whisper in her ear:

"I know how you feel, because I really, really want to give you presents too. But until I can…I want to make you feel good, because you make me feel fucking fantastic." I smile into her hair, and start kissing my way down her neck, slow, wet open-mouthed kisses that make her squirm in her chair. She sighs, a sound of pleasure. I lean in closer and softly cup her breast, feeling the nipple harden through the barrier of her bra and thin t-shirt. Within thirty seconds she sags into my arms, and then we're rolling around on the floor, breathing hard. I feel her hands pulling up my shirt, snaking up my back. My heart is thumping in my chest and I can't wait to get out of these clothes.

Almost as if she's reading my mind, Bella's hands press down on my chest. I roll over on my back so that she can straddle my hips. I wince because my erection is painful when she sits down on me. Although, when she does I take advantage of her position and guide her hips, slowly rubbing her against my pelvis. That helps relieve some of the tension I'm feeling. Her jeans are rough against my pants, but I enjoy the friction too much to think very clearly.

Her eyes look dark as she leans forward and starts releasing my tie and unbuttoning my shirt. "I don't want to ruin these nice clothes, Edward. Do you think you could help me get them off you?"

Through the fog in my mind, I get that this is really what I want, too. I let go of Bella, and sit up so I can help her unbutton the cuffs, shrugging out of the shirt. I gently lift her off me and stand up so that I can get out of my pants, socks and boxers, too, with lightning speed. She slowly mirrors my movements, letting her jeans pool on the floor, but then she visibly hesitates.

I put my arms around her and gently back her towards the bed, kissing her softly all over her face, murmuring into her skin: "Why are you so shy, baby? I think you're lovely to look at. You don't have to hide from me." She tenses beneath my hands. As she sits down on the bed and slides higher up, I climb up to lie down beside her. Trying to capture her gaze, I touch her hair where it falls in disarray around her shoulders. She looks uncomfortable.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry. I really am. I just … it doesn't feel ... I still don't feel comfortable getting naked in front of you."

"But why? Don't you know that I think you're beautiful? Haven't I made it clear that you're perfect to me? A summer's day and all that jazz?" I smile, but I want her to know that I'm sincere.

She smiles, too, but only a little. Rolling into me, she hides her face against my chest and hugs me to her tightly. I feel her bare legs tangle with mine, and in spite of her fragile mood, I'm aroused by the mere feeling of holding her in my arms, skin on skin.

"I'm sorry. I can't help it," she says "you're so beautiful. I can't help feeling ugly beside you. It doesn't make any sense, someone like you being with someone like me. I keep waiting for you to scream and run for the hills. You don't have to say anything, I know it's stupid. It's just _there_ all the time."

I'm quiet for a minute, stroking her hair, kissing the top of her head and running my hand down her back in a soothing motion. I resist the impulse to squeeze her delicious ass.

"I hate it that you feel like that, but I kind of get what you mean. Sometimes I hate the way I look, too, because of the reactions I get from people. They don't care about who I am; they judge me on how I look. But, Bella, I mean it when I say you're beautiful. Please don't ever call yourself ugly, because that's not how I see you. I don't know who did something to you to make you think like that, but I can assure you that they were wrong."

I release her, and nudge her chin, until she raises her head to look at me.

"And now I really need to know what I can do to get you naked, beautiful girl, because I want to make love to you so bad. Should I blindfold myself again? Would that help?" I smile at her, but I'm serious. I would probably stand on my head in a barrel if it would get me more naked time with Bella.

She shakes her head and offers an apologetic smile.

"It's stupid, I know, but would you mind if we just closed the blinds? And could you turn your back while I undress and get into bed, please?"

I pull her in for a searing kiss, pressing my body against hers, as if I could dissolve her clothes with my body heat. I've heard about edible panties. I have to see if I can get Bella a pair. Quickly I climb out of bed to close the blinds and draw the curtains, shutting out the afternoon sunshine. I disconnect the phone and close and lock the door for good measure. I don't want anything or anyone to disturb us right now.

Bella is sitting on the edge of the bed, watching me with an uneasy expression.

"Are you mad at me?" Her voice sounds small.

I stop in front of her and pull her to her feet, holding her with my arms loosely wrapped around her waist. I let my fingers stray and play with the edge of her t-shirt where it meets the edge of her panties. I feel her smooth skin under my fingertips and I have the satisfaction of seeing her shiver. I love that I can affect her like this. I playfully grind my pelvis against her hip, trying to catch the look in her lovely brown eyes.

"Never mad at you Bella. Just talk to me, tell me how you feel. And I hope one day I'll have the pleasure of seeing you strip for me, because that is one of my number one fantasies of you."

She looks up at me, her eyes darkening.

"You … fantasize about me?"

In spite of my growing need to rip her shirt off and throw her on the bed, I smile at the question.

"All. The. Time." I bite down on the fleshy part of her shoulder, eliciting something between a shocked shriek and a shuddering moan.

"Hurry up and get naked, please!" I dive under the covers, turning my back on Bella, in spite of the fact that my fingers and tongue ache to be all over her pale, silky skin. It can't be more than a minute before I feel the bed dip behind me, and her naked body pressing up against me from behind. Her skin is cool against my warmth. When she throws her leg over my hip, I can feel her hot center pressing against my thigh. I take a deep breath. My cock twitches when I feel how she's already wet for me.

This is what I want, more than anything. I love how we turn each other on. Just as I love how we can laugh at the same jokes, be quiet together and work together. For a moment I just revel in the feeling of her arms wrapped around me, her hands clasped over my abs, our bodies entwined in the most intimate way. I have been naked with other girls, but I can't remember feeling this close to anyone before.

"What is it like, being inside me?" she whispers, her breath like the fluttering of a moth wing against my ear. I don't even know how to begin to answer that question.

My voice sounds rough as I clutch her hands in mine, kissing her fingers. "I don't know. I don't think I can tell you. Physically it's … amazing. This pleasure. Being touched by you so intimately, feeling how warm you are around me, how soft." I ache for her now, as we're speaking about it. I long to actually _feel _it again.

"But there's more. Something I never felt before. There's this … emotional connection, as if we're closer than is humanly possible. As if you're touching me everywhere, inside and out, not just where we're joined." I shudder, then twist around so that we're face to face in the bed. In the twilight of the room I can still see her eyes shining on me.

"I'm not making any sense. Kiss me."

She kisses me, and her mouth is so soft I want to cry. I feel her smile before she speaks.

"I love it every time you enter me. I feel this shock going through my body, just as it was the first time." Her lips move against the corner of my mouth and I want to capture her tongue with mine.

"It's like I can't get enough of you. I want to have a penis too, so _I_ could be inside _you_, too." She hesitates.

"Is that weird?"

I smile and shake my head no as I run my hands along the curve of her hip. I cup her breast, mumbling my own confession.

"I want to live inside your body. I want to _be_ your tongue. I want to be a part of you all the time. I never want to be anywhere that I can't touch your skin. If you had a penis, I think I might even let you use it on me, just so I could be closer to you. I guess we're both weird."

We're smiling in the dark, but just as quickly desire takes over and I start kissing her, first slowly, then more and more desperately, as if I could indeed kiss my way inside her mouth, through her skin.

I can feel her meeting my desperation with equal amounts of tenderness and impatience. Her hands roam my body, seeking out all my sensitive spots, moving softly, then grasping greedily. When she breaks our kiss to come up for air, she squirms around and starts kissing her way across my chest, pressing me down on my back so she can climb all over me.

"You. Are. So. Beautiful." I hear her breathless words, as she writes her love with her lips and her tongue over my collarbones, around my nipples, down my abdomen. She continues, scrolling across the sensitive skin on the inside of my arms, her teeth a hyphen on my hipbones and thighs. I groan as she slowly licks swirling letters around my straining cock.

"I need to be inside you. Bella, please…"

She takes pity on me and finds the condom on the bedside table. She hovers above me as she rips the packet open and slowly, carefully, rolls it on. I can just make out the lovely shape of her. Her nipples are darker circles under her hair that slides over her shoulders, smooth as water. The curve of her ribcage and hips is so beautiful under my hands. I grip her soft abdomen and help lift her up; Bella positions herself above me. I grind my teeth together in anticipation, and then there's the sweet relief of sliding home. I feel the electric shudder that goes through my body when I feel her tightening around me, then there's a tingling warmth. Yes, it's like a first time, all over again.

She pulls the sheet up around her, and we raise a tent for our lovemaking, a billowing sail above us. We move, slowly at first, then faster and faster. The sound of our flesh slapping together is obscene and exciting. I feel like I'm burning up. I flip us around, so that my naked back arches out of the tangled nest of our bed clothes. I lift up her legs so that I can reach deeper and go harder and faster, because now I'm losing my mind. The noises she makes are urgent and for a minute I worry that maybe I'm hurting her. But when I touch her face, she grabs my hand and sucks my fingers into her mouth eagerly, lifting her hips against me to make the angle of my thrusts even deeper. As I move my hand down to feel her wet lips caressing my cock, I look down with wonder to where I can almost see myself sliding in and out of her. Her sweet smell envelops me. I circle her clit because now I am so close I don't think I can last much longer.

Closing my eyes, I feel the urgency of my orgasm take over. I curse and quickly shift my weight on my hands as I begin to thrust into her with abandon. I pound her with all I have. White heat shines through my body, blinding my mind as I collapse. A void of intense pleasure bordering on pain envelops me. It's never been like this. She's like a drug.

I fight to get my breathing under control, completely spent. I slump down and roll over, so as not to crush her. My heart thumps like crazy in my chest. Bella curls into me and rests her hand over my heart. I can almost feel the skin jumping up into her palm, as if even my heart is twitching to be closer to her. I run my free hand over my face, pulling her into me with the arm that's still wrapped around her.

"Sorry, I think I lost control there for a bit. Did I hurt you?" Now I feel a twinge of guilt curdling my stomach. I acted like a caveman again, completely ignoring her needs. How could I _do_ that? I'm so fucking immature sometimes. I gently twine my fingers through her hair, swallowing. "You didn't cum, did you?"

Her voice is muffled against my shoulder, but she sounds relaxed, not tight or disappointed.

"No, but that's fine and you didn't hurt me. Actually, it's kind of hot when you lose yourself like that. It makes me feel … powerful, that I can make you feel like that." Now her voice is shy, and I can feel her squirming a little.

I smile, relieved that she's not upset or judging me.

"Fuck, Bella, you have to know by now that you make me lose my mind pretty much all the time? If it were up to me, we'd never get out of the house because I would be wrapped around you day and night."

I hold her close and breathe in her scent. If we could just stay like this, I would be happy forever. The thought of her leaving for England is just too big to bear thinking about, so I won't. Instead, I release her and slowly start kissing my way down her soft body, until I feel her hands on my shoulders.

"Hey, not that I don't enjoy you giving me oral sex, but I meant what I said, Edward; I'm okay with not cuming. It doesn't always have to be tit for tat with sex, don't you think?"

Surprised, I lean over her, pulling some escaped strands of hair from her forehead, trying to catch her eye in the gloom of the bedroom.

"You know I love going down on you, don't you? It's not as if I'm doing it out of a sense of duty." I smirk and kiss the corner of her mouth, then I move up to kiss her eyelids and her smooth forehead. "I love every part of you, but maybe I love _that _part of you just a tiny little bit more." I add, tickling her ear with my tongue, making her gasp when I suck and bite down gently on her ear lobe. Her nipples are erect and I'm pretty sure I've got her full attention.

"It's just that with … " her voice trembles and she falls silent. I raise my head and look down at her with some concern now.

"What? Bella, you can tell me anything. Please say what's on your mind. Is something wrong? Did I come on too strong?"

She shakes her head, and her cloud of dark hair moves across the pillow.

"I was just about to say something about my love life with James, when I realized it's not really okay to talk about your ex lovers when you're in bed with your present one," she mumbles, clearly embarrassed.

I stroke her hair again, reassuring her.

"Hey, I'm not curious about that asshole, but if you want to tell me something, you can. I won't feel threatened or anything. What is it?"

Inside I feel a bit uncomfortable, though, at the thought of Bella comparing me with a man her own age. James must be someone who's clearly more experienced and more sophisticated than I could ever be, even if he acted like a certified asshole around her.

She turns to me in the grey light and lets her hands rest on my chest while she speaks, not looking at my face.

"James was kind of … competitive in everything he did. Even in bed. Most of the times when we made love, it was important to him that I climaxed. If I didn't he took that as a personal insult, although of course he never said it. It had me twisted in knots, knowing that he was waiting for me to cum. I knew that he would be impatient and disappointed if it didn't happen, reproaching me without telling me in so many words. Since I was tense, it made it that much harder to cum, you see, because I knew it was important to him. Sometimes … " she hesitates, " … sometimes I faked it, just so we could get on with it, so that he would be pleased and let it go." She touches my face, looking up at me, and I see her eyes gleam.

"I don't ever want to be anything but honest with you. I promise I won't ever try to fake my responses," she giggles shakily, "even if I could, which I don't think is possible. Anyway, I want you to promise me something. Don't make sex a competition, all right? If I cum, fine, but if I don't and I tell you I'm okay with it, please believe me. Likewise, if you don't feel like having sex, or if we do but you don't cum, I promise I won't pout and act insecure or reproachful."

I can't help laughing at this, because even though I feel angry at the thought of James manipulating Bella and ruining their sex life, frankly I can't imagine a situation where I'm not interested in having sex with her. My bigger problem is trying _not_ to come in my pants just from being in the same room with her than the opposite. But I see where she's going with this, so I nod.

"Yeah, I understand what you're saying. You want us to be honest with one another in bed. I want that, too. I'll try not to be a competitive asshole in bed, or anywhere else." I kiss her softly on the lips, rubbing our noses together.

"But if I want to give you amazing oral sex just because I enjoy your taste so much, I hope you won't begrudge me my pleasure?" I smile my best crooked smile at her, and have the joy of hearing her sudden intake of breath when I start nipping my way across her neck with my lips and teeth.

Then I take my time and make her cum. Twice. What can I say? I am a man after all.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry this is late: some kind of holiday called Thanksgiving got in the way! As compensation, if you want to know what Edward texted Bella, leave me a review or a PM and I'll tell you. Btw, is honesty always the best policy in a relationship, do you think?**


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: Disclaimer - Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. Unfortunately, this chapter is published without the tender care of any beta, but I hope you'll be able to overlook it's flaws! Thank you for reading!**

* * *

_Oh what is_

_this light that_

_holds us fast? Our_

_limbs quicken even_

_to disgrace under_

_this white eye as_

_if there were real_

_pleasure in loving_

_a shadow and caress-_

_ing a disguise!_

Frank O'Hara: An Image of Leda

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**Chapter 28**

**BPOV**

Knowing that I have a definitive deadline is helping me finish my work on the book, the way deadlines have always helped me in the past. The more I think about the scholarship, the more determined I become to take the chance that's been offered me. I start drafting an outline for a research proposal so that I can discuss it with Dr. Cope when I see her at Berkeley next week. I don't know where my best sources will be yet, but I'm guessing working in London will be a good starting point, then going up to Oxford for one or two days if I want to look at manuscripts there. A lot of library sources can be found online these days, of course, but I enjoy the idea of being able to access material that most people never get a chance to see, because it's too old, too fragile or too obscure to be of public interest.

The scholarship entails giving lectures in London on subjects relating to my research during my stay there. It will be part of an on-going lecture series, talks aimed not only at university students attending classes in the humanities, but at the informed public. This should be just up my street, since the book I'm finishing has that kind of scope. I'm used to working with both college kids and students who take night classes to get a degree while they're still working. The older students always bring their life- and work experience to the table, which gives me a whole new range of questions to work with.

Edward tells me he's talked to Kate and even though she's not thrilled to redraft the schedule she's agreed to make room for him to take several days off. This means that now he's going to be working nine days straight, then have four days off. We're going to drive up early Wednesday morning, stay overnight somewhere along the coast, arrive in San Francisco on Thursday, so that I can have my meeting with Dr. Cope. Then we'll drive back Friday afternoon, stay the night on the way and be back Saturday so that Edward can go to work Sunday morning.

I call Dr. Banner's office to reschedule my coming Friday appointment to the next week, and I can't say I look forward very much to seeing her this Friday either. What should I say? "Hey, Dr. Banner, thanks to your professional advice I went straight home from therapy and threw myself at this man who is half my age, and now we've been having amazing, mind-blowing sex all week. I'm completely confused because I think I'm falling in love with him, and I just found out we have about two months before I have to go to the other side of the world without him." Great.

This is what really bothers me. I've just found Edward and now, almost at the same moment, I have to come to terms with letting him go. I'm afraid of what will happen to him if I leave, but I know that it's exactly this kind of thinking that has screwed up my life in the past. I shouldn't make my decisions based on what I think other people need from me, I should make decisions based on what is good for me.

And what good would come from turning down this offer, when I really don't know how much longer I have with Edward anyway? What if September arrives, and then he decides to break up with me? In that case I'll regret not only investing all my emotional energy into a relationship that was clearly doomed from the start, but the fact that I've once again been monumentally stupid enough to let a man discourage me from doing what I truly love.

_I'm sitting at my desk at home when I hear the door slam shut, and James calls out to me from the hallway. Distracted, I shout back "I'm in here!" and start saving my documents and collecting the papers I've been grading so that I can go out and greet him properly._

_When I walk into the living room, he's over by the bar, pouring sparkling wine into two flutes. He turns to me with a smile, his face flushed._

"_We're celebrating, Bella! Did you prepare dinner? Never mind, I'm taking you out tonight. What do you feel like? There's this place on South LaSalle that I've been told is good. You like sea food, right?" _

_I'm stunned, I don't know what's going on right now, and I'm not used to seeing James so excited. He's usually not this exuberant even when he's in a good mood._

"_What's going on James? What are we celebrating?"_

_He walks over to me and hands me my glass, pulls me in and gives me a hard kiss, then releases me and raises his glass, still grinning._

"_I got promoted, just like I knew I would be! Here's to a bright future, Bella!"_

_I clink glasses with him and drink, feeling the bubbles tickling my nose. It's tart and delicious and makes my taste buds tingle. I can feel the wine going straight to my head and knees, making me feel wobbly. I was always sensitive to champagne. _

"_Congratulations. Promoted to what, exactly?" As far as I know James is already head of his department, ruling it over nearly seventy people in his steel-gray office building downtown. _

"_Oh, they've just made me head of the San Francisco branch," he grins at me, mock bashful. "I start in two months, which should give us plenty of time to wrap up here, sell the apartment and find a house in San Francisco. Where do you want to live, Bella? Somewhere close to downtown or outside the city? I've heard commuting works just fine. Palo Alto? Oakland?"_

_I sit down on the couch with a thump, carefully placing my glass on the coffee table in front of me, made from a heavy slab of black, opaque glass._

"_We're moving to San Francisco?" I hear my voice waver. "In two months?" Suddenly I feel dismay and anger coursing through my body. How the hell did this happen? I quickly stand up again, and start pacing the room to get the adrenaline under control.._

"_How can you just make a decision like that without consulting me? Where does that leave me in your grand scheme of things? Do you think I can just pick up and leave? I'm finishing my Master's degree and hoping to get a chance to write my thesis here at the University of Chicago: I can't drop everything just because you get a promotion!"_

_James looks at me, smirking. "Oh, Bella, Bella, calm down. Everything isn't about you, you know. The country is full of universities and I'm sure the West Coast will do just as well as the Midwest for someone with your… skills." I feel myself flush hot red. He's mocking me._

_And then he walks up to me, drawing me in close. I can feel the hardness of his body beneath his impeccable suit when he tucks my head under his chin and plays with my hair. My instinct is to struggle free, but I don't want to appear childish. I have to keep this conversation on a reasonable, adult level. I force myself to relax, pretending that it's physical comfort I want when I really wish I could kick James in the shin right now. _

"_James," I say, willing myself to sound calm and not whiny or mad. "I'm really pleased for you, but I don't think you understand how difficult it may be for someone like me to get accepted as a doctorate student in an English department at any university, not to mention a good one. Anyway, I can't possibly be ready to move in two months, it's just not going to work. I have to see my professors tomorrow and talk to them about helping me look at my options."_

_James releases me, then runs his fingers across my cheek and down my throat, pretending to write something with his fingertip across my collar bone as he smiles enigmatically. It's an erotic gesture, and yet it leaves me cold._

"_Of course, if you need to stay on here for a couple of months longer, I can move out ahead of you. It will be inconvenient that you won't be there to help me settle in and establish our new home, but I'll do anything for you, Bella, you know that? Only…" He drains his glass and leaves it beside my own untouched one on the table, pulls me by the hand over to the couch, and sits down. He sits me across his lap, so that my legs dangle sideways over his legs and the side of the couch. I'm not sure that I'm comfortable in this position. It makes me feel like a little girl being chided by her dad, and James is not really that much older and wiser than me._

_He pulls my head down on his shoulder and twiddles with a strand of my hair, his free hand stroking the back of my hand in my lap with his thumb. His voice is persuasive now, soothing._

"_You knew when you married me Bella that this might happen. I've never tried to hide the fact that my work is important to me, and that I am an ambitious man. I work for a company with international connections and offices all over the United States. It may well be that I'll be relocated to work in New York, or even overseas one day. And then I hope you'll come with me?"_

_His arm travels down to my waist, and tightens. I swallow. Yes, I knew his work might mean moving one day, theoretically, but I never thought it would be this soon. I had really hoped I would complete my doctorate degree here in Chicago, and eventually be ready to apply for work somewhere else. _

"_Yes James I know, and I'm committed to supporting you, you know that. I just … I didn't think it would have to come to this. It doesn't seem fair that I have to choose between you and my work. After all, I've never entertained the idea that I could make you leave everything and move with me to Florida if I got tenure there ... " I sound petulant and sullen even in my own ears._

_James chuckles, and I feel his laughter reverberate through his chest. He's like a smooth machine, ready to pounce at any sign of weakness._

"_Oh, baby, you'd hate Florida, you know that. Whereas I'm sure you'll love San Francisco. And you'll be closer to your dad again, isn't that a good thing? I know you said only the other day that you worry about him sometimes." _

_I squirm in his lap. Yes, it's true that I worry about Charlie from time to time. I hardly ever get to see him since I moved here, except for the occasional Christmas or Thanksgiving visit. James isn't keen on keeping tabs on family, and rarely visits his own parents out in Boston, so I feel I can't demand that we go see Charlie every holiday._

"_Besides," he purrs into my ear, his hand wandering now to touch the side of my breast, "I'm sure with a little help I can pull a few strings out west. Berkeley, Stanford, I'm sure we can find you something. After all, you're the shining star of your department. At least that's what I hear. I'm sure you'll be able to impress them, baby."_

_And with a smooth movement he's flipped me over onto my back on the couch He hovers above me while his fingers make quick work of the buttons in my shirt. With a growl he yanks my shirt out of my skirt and lowers himself to kiss my breasts, twisting first one, then the other cup down, pulling the bra straps down for better access._

"_Oh, Bella, I love you so much. You're such a sweet girl all the time, but you know how you turn me on when you get angry."_

_I'm exasperated by him but kind of turned on, too. I know this is his way of deflecting the conversation and I know damned well that there's nothing I can do to change his mind once it's made up. I pull his shirt up out of his pants, and when he wrangles out of his jacket, I release his belt and the top button on his trousers. I frown up at him as I pull down the zipper. His erection is pretty prominent beneath his boxers._

"_Can't we do this in the bedroom?" is my only comment, because the couch is kind of cramped._

_He smirks down at me._

"_No."_

_He's deftly pulling my panties and panty hose down my legs and over my feet with lightning speed and bunching my skirt up around my thighs. I can tell this will be quick and to the point, so I decide to just go with it. Then his hand is on my chin, holding me still as he dives in for a deep kiss. It leaves me breathless, and reflexively my hands curl into his hair. He leans his forehead against mine, his eyes gleaming at me wickedly as he whispers, "Fight me, Bella." _

_He's tried this before and I get why it's a turn-on. I'm not certain that I like it all the same. Still, it's a sure way to get the sex over with quickly, and then maybe we can get back to thinking seriously about how to make this big change work. So I comply and use some of my pent-up irritation in a wholehearted attempt to flip him off me and the couch with my hands and feet. He's predictably too heavy for this move, so I end up squirming and pushing under him ineffectively, while he chuckles and breathes heavily as he tries to catch my hands. When he does, pinning them down, it's only a question of minutes before he's inside me. I give up the pretense of fighting and wrap my legs around his hips, meeting his thrusts with my own. _

_For once his lovemaking isn't elaborate or thought-out; it's just plain fucking, which is okay by me. He's forceful, but he's not out of control or hurting me. I don't have time to come, but I know I can remedy that later if I feel like it. When he comes quickly with a low moan, pressing his face into my neck, I know he'll be in a good mood for the rest of the night and maybe ready to listen to reason. _

_Not that it means I'll get my way. I never seem to. It's more about damage control._

I sigh. Yes, my life with James through the years was increasingly about damage control. First I was dealing with the damage to my career, then increasingly the damage to our relationship and in the end the damage to my heart.

I got my chance to study for the doctorate degree at Berkeley instead, and I don't think it had anything to do with "strings" being pulled. Maybe it was more about the clout my professors had with their colleagues at Berkeley, and - so I'd like to think - the quality of my work. Looking back, I don't blame James for moving us out west since I love Berkeley. But he was jealous of my time, and reluctant to let me leave him to go off on work-related travel. A conference of a couple of days was okay, but a week was frowned upon, and going off for a semester or a year was right out. He "needed" me, and always expected me to be there when he entertained visitors or to accompany him when he went away on important business trips. And I complied with his wishes, as much as it was possible, because I wanted to keep the peace at home. It really didn't get us anywhere in the end. He wanted me to show intelligence and spirit but only up to a point, beyond which it was clear that he wanted to have his way, with me as with everything else.

Through the week that follows, I keep busy working. I'm not only finishing the end notes but doing some final revising on all my previous chapters, perfectionist that I am. Edward is a darling, tip-toeing around me most of the time he's home, pulling me out of my room only to remind me of our run. He tries to make me eat something with him and borrows the car to go grocery shopping on his own, making himself useful in an unobtrusive way. Every time I signal that I'm done for the day he pounces on me with glee, for a prolonged session of making out on the couch under the pretext of watching a movie. Most often we end up making tender or passionate love on one of our beds.

We've also taken to introducing each other to some of our favorite music, which has led to attempts at dancing in the living room. (I don't really dance but Edward does, and it's kind of hard to resist him.) Who would have thought you could slow dance to Van Morrison? When I tried to persuade Edward that it was possible to waltz to 16th century baroque music he almost ended up breaking our necks swirling around the living room. After that we decided to keep the dancing to a minimum where classical music was involved. We've discovered that we both like Debussy and Bach, though. And Edward has promised to play me something by Satie once we get to a piano, to convince me that it's not just "elevator music".

One of the good things about how busy I've been is that we've spent most of our time around the house. I haven't had to face the question yet of when and to whom we should present ourselves as a couple. Frankly, thinking about it, I feel slightly sick. I can imagine all kinds of unpleasant reactions from Edward's co-workers or from my friends and family. Anything from cackling laughter to disbelief to disgust seems likely. Because however okay it may be for a forty-year-old male professor to take up with a twenty-year-old female student (as long as she's not actually his student) it will always elicit some sarcastic comments behind his back. And if the forty-year-old professor happens to be a divorced woman on the dowdy side, the comments are sure to be scathing. "Who do you think you are, Bella?" are the words that keep ringing through my mind.

And again, I don't know how to begin to describe the effect Edward's had on me to Dr. Banner. I feel lighter, as if someone had relieved me of a backpack I didn't know I was carrying. I feel more physical, more aware of my body, but not in a bad way. Even if I still can't bring myself to be naked in front of this beautiful man, his touch has made me crave physical closeness in a way I can't remember since, well maybe since the beginning of my marriage.

But I don't remember feeling close to James the way I feel close to Edward. I can actually _feel _him without looking at him, like a magnet feels the hidden iron. As soon as he's at home the whole house becomes different, inhabited in a new way. Whenever he walks into a room, my body knows it even when my back is turned. If he looks at me, I feel his gaze like a physical touch on my face. I don't feel threatened at all: I feel warm, and safe. And I want more, which scares me.

Will there be a renewed Bella post-Edward, or will the nuclear fall-out be worse this time when I lose him? I still haven't figured out why I reacted so disastrously to my break-up with James, and therapy doesn't seem to be getting me anywhere on the understanding-myself-part. But if I crumpled when I was left by someone I'd been together with too long for the wrong reasons, who claimed that he never really loved me, then how bad would it be if I had to leave Edward? I know I have to keep some part of myself separate from him, protected from the overwhelming emotion that threatens to break the surface. I feel it every time we make love, when I'm exposed and vulnerable and at the same time completely lost in him.

I've never enjoyed sex this much, and I don't think it has anything to do with technique and everything to do with emotion. James never lacked in technique, but I was often too tense or self-aware to let go and let myself be swept up in the mere physical act of sex. With Edward, emotion comes first, and sex is just one way to express that emotion It's a powerful, bone-deep way of shattering the senses, to expose what moves in my heart and beneath my skin. I've never felt so aware and yet able to let my mind drift. I turn into a sea creature languidly moving with the green sea, warmed by the sun, feeling each cell open to the water and the light.

Thursday afternoon, Edward comes home, calling my name as usual as he walks in the front door. I stretch and stand up to straighten my back, leaving my computer to walk out and greet him. He smiles at me, and as always that smile has the power to turn my insides liquid. It lights up my heart just as it lights up his face. I walk up to him and hug him, because I have to. He claims that he needs a shower but I can still feel the delicious Edward-smell beneath the cooking and the faint cigarette smoke that clings to his hair and his clothes. He's told me about his smoke-breaks with Jim and assures me that he's not tempted to smoke himself. He just enjoys drawing conversation out of Jim, which he claims is like milking a stone.

He smiles down at me, and I notice that he's giving me a one-armed hug, holding something behind his back.

"I got you something. It's a present." He pulls his hand through his hair, suddenly shy.

"It's not much, it's just something I saw that made me think of you. If you don't like it, that's fine, you don't have to keep it or anything."

He holds out a plain white shopping bag to me, and I take it, hesitating. We've been through this. I don't want him to waste his money on me, but neither do I wish to be graceless and spoil his fun. He's already given me so much, but if he wants to give me a present … I smile at him and open the bag. It's fabric, a piece of clothing. I pull it out and hold it out in front of me. It's a dress. I bite my lip and then I clutch the dress to me with one hand, reaching out and pulling Edward's face down to me for a brief kiss.

"Thank you." I murmur. I look up at him, doubtful. "Do you want me to try it on? I can't guarantee that it will fit me, you know."

He shakes his head.

"Do whatever you want to do, Bella. I thought it would look good on you, but if you're not comfortable wearing it you shouldn't. I won't mind." He smiles again, shyly, and backs off towards the guest bathroom.

"I'm just going to take that shower now, and then I'll grab a bite to eat. Do you want to go running now or later?"

I hesitate. I'm almost done, and it would be nice to get out of the house for a while.

"Maybe we could just go for a walk in an hour or so, and then run later when it's cooler outside?"

Edward nods in agreement, before turning around and disappearing around the corner of the hallway.

I slowly walk back into my room, running the fabric of the dress between my fingers. It's a vintage cotton print dress, in a style that was common maybe fifteen or twenty years ago, but which I guess could pass today, too. It's long, with short sleeves and small buttons all the way down the front. Instead of sitting down in front of my computer again, I walk into the bathroom and lock the door behind me. If the dress is a disaster and too small I don't want Edward to see it on, I'll just hide it away in my closet and tell him it was lovely but didn't fit me.

I quickly strip down with my back to the mirror as usual, then unbutton the top five buttons and slip the dress over my head. It glides down and settles over my chest. It's not big, but not uncomfortably tight either. I button it up, noticing that the buttons look like tiny white rosebuds, and turn around bracing myself for the view.

And … it's not too bad. The dress is dark blue, with a print of white and faintly pink sprigs of flowers, a rounded neckline that stops well above any cleavage but exposes a bit of shoulder and my neck. That could be remedied with a scarf though, if I feel shy. I guess it manages to cover the ugliest parts of my body. The sleeves stop shortly above my elbows and since the waist is narrow but cut high, below my bosom, it covers the unattractive bulge of my stomach and hips without making me look huge. It actually makes it look as if I have some kind of female shape. I'm amazed, and grateful to Edward for finding me this dress. I decide to keep it on.

When I hear him rummaging around in the kitchen, I go out and find him standing at the counter, making himself a sandwich. He looks up, and freezes when he sees me. I'm not sure if this is good or bad, so I just stand there stupidly, and stare back at him like a deer caught in headlights. He clears his throat and speaks first.

"You look really pretty in that dress, Bella, if you don't mind me saying so." He grins at me, his initial surprise apparently forgotten.

"You should wear dresses all the time." He frowns and adds. "At least you should wear them around the house. Or maybe when I'm around you can wear one when you go out, but don't risk it alone." His goofy smile is back, and he leaves the food on the counter and walks over to me to pick me up and swing me around.

"Because Bella in a dress is a-do-ra-ble" he sings, "and we wouldn't want her ab-duct-a-ble".

I almost squeal, before reminding myself that I'm not fourteen years old anymore.

"That's not even a word! Please, Edward, put me down before you hurt yourself," I say breathlessly, and he laughs and follows my orders; only to put his arms around me, hug me close to him and kiss the top of my head.

"I'm right, though, you look really good in that dress, and I'm _almost_ worried someone will come and try to snap you up if you go walking on the beach with me dressed like that. But the world should know what it's missing. By all means, wear the dress if you want to and I won't mind." He goes back to his sandwich making and briefly waves a big knife threateningly in the air, before slicing up tomatoes with it. "Don't forget that I'm armed and dangerous, though."

I think to myself that it's his smile that is the most dangerous part of his arsenal, but I just roll my eyes and go off to my room to wrap up my work, and shut down the computer.

We walk down the beach, Edward in khaki shorts and a t-shirt, looking glamorous in his sunglasses, me with my new dress blowing around my legs. I feel slightly overdressed for the beach. The dress is thankfully long enough so that I don't risk having any Marilyn Monroe-moments. I feel sort of shy and proud at the same time when I'm wearing it. I've gathered my hair in a low knot at the nape of my neck so that it won't blow in my face, and I'm wearing my sunglasses, too, as a sort of protective layer. When Edward reaches out and takes my hand as if it's the most natural thing in the world, I kind of shiver all over to feel his warm hand wrapped around mine.

"Do you enjoy living so close to the ocean?" he asks me.

I think about it and shrug.

"I enjoyed it more when I was living with my Dad up in Oregon. The beaches around Los Angeles are so … artificial." He looks silently at me, raising his eyebrows, so I try to explain.

"Just look around us; it's sand and palm trees and houses and people everywhere. You can't tell what kind of country this is, it could be a beach resort anywhere in the world if it weren't for the flags. But the Olympic peninsula, where we lived, is green and wild in a completely different way. And the sea is wilder, too, more grey-green than here. I love the smell of the rain forest and the smell of the ocean. You smell so little of nature here with all the traffic and the people. And it hardly ever rains."

He smirks at me.

"Most people would say that was a good thing. You don't like the sun?"

"No, I love the sunlight, it's just …" I frown at the innocent blue sky above us. "There are no seasons here. It's always the same."

And as I say it, I know that this has been bothering me for the past months. I have the uncanny feeling that I'm on vacation but that I've overstayed and lost count of the days - and now I've missed my flight home. None of this feels real. Maybe that's why I've not only allowed but accepted my relationship with Edward, because it's just a part of this unreal world?

I turn to him, shrugging the thought away, squeezing his hand. At least he _feels_ real.

"What about you?" I ask. "Did you ever live close to the sea?"

He frowns, and once again I wonder how much it will take for him to really tell me about himself. He's started opening up to me, but we've far from done the Twenty questions-sessions that are so common in the beginning of a relationship, the likes and dislikes, the stories of our families and where we grew up, our dreams for the future. I wonder when he will begin to really trust me? But then again he's probably smart to protect himself and not give me too much too soon, especially now that I've told him I won't stick around after the summer. So far, on the abandonment level, it seems I'm doing the abandoning, not him. Which makes me feel twisted up inside for some reason, instead of relieved.

"I moved around a bit when I was younger" he finally says. "I've seen the East coast, and the Midwest and Florida. But I've never lived close to the Pacific, like here." He smiles at me and pulls me closer, so that our arms are touching as we walk.

"Oregon sounds like fun, though, for a paleface like me. I've never been able to get a real tan, probably because of my redhead genes."

I study him: yes, there's some red in his hair, and he has the green eyes that sometimes go with red hair, but his long lashes are dark and his skin is fair and clear without a trace of freckles. Except for the delicious stubble which I've had the opportunity to enjoy, his skin is flawless enough for a girl to envy. And it's certainly sun-kissed now, because I can see the golden glow over his natural paleness.

"I'd like to take you there. My Dad still lives in Forks, which is on the Olympic peninsula. It's really beautiful – wet and cold, but beautiful. So green."

I remember how strange I thought it was when I moved there in high school, after the scorching heat of Arizona summers and the city life of Phoenix. But then I soon realized what I'd already learnt through my years of moving around with Renee: home isn't a physical place, it's something you carry around inside you or it doesn't exist at all. Forks was really no different from Arizona. I was the same person, and so my new life molded around me pretty much like the old one, for better and for worse. But I started enjoying the colder climate and the generous nature; if I hadn't been such a klutz I think I would have been a natural at hiking. Long-sleeved thermal shirts and boots kind of grew on me.

Almost as if he's read my mind, Edward says:

"My family used to go hiking a lot when I was younger. I haven't done it in years, though. There's something about sleeping in a tent that's scary and relaxing at the same time. You feel vulnerable, but on the other hand it's almost as if you're floating in space, far away from everything else. All that silence. It's impossible to find that kind of silence here."

He absentmindedly lifts my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles. It's the kind of gesture that makes me want to wrap my arms around him and kiss him hard because it's so tender and familiar. Suddenly he turns to me with a smile, and pushes his shades up so that I can see his beautiful green eyes.

"Hey, I forgot to tell you: Jim said he's having a barbecue in his backyard on Saturday night, sometime around six o'clock and he asked me to come and meet his family. He said I could bring a friend, so I thought of you. Would you like to go?"

I am a bit taken aback at the suggestion. But Edward looks really excited.

"I thought Jim was the guy who never talks very much? How did you get so friendly with him?" I ask, stalling.

Edward grins, and kicks at an empty water bottle a couple of times, before bending down to pick it up.

"Well, Jim isn't a big talker, but he's a really nice guy. Did I tell you he gave me a bag of clothes when he heard I used to run track? He quit running years ago and had a lot of pretty good training clothes still lying around the house that happened to fit me okay." He shakes his head, lets go of my hand and jogs up to a trash can to dunk the bottle in, before coming back to me and slinging his arm casually across my shoulders to resume our walk.

"So what do you say? Would you like to meet him? I won't go unless you're interested in coming, too, since he's told me he's got a house full of girls. I need protection."

I know he's teasing me, but I squirm a little. I don't want Edward to stay away from meeting other people just because I happen to be a bit shy. And it would probably be good for me to get out more. A family barbecue sounds kind of harmless, doesn't it? I nod my head.

"Sure, let's do it. I have been living like a recluse here for too long. Should we bring something?"

Edward stops for a minute, and puts his hands on my shoulders, looking into my face intently. I remove my sunglasses and squint at him.

"What?"

"You're pretty amazing, Bella, you know that, right?" He smiles, but his eyes are completely serious.

I smile back at him. "Look who's talking; Mr. Amazing Guy himself."

He leans down so that our foreheads are touching, and we rub noses.

"Eskimo kiss. Secret greeting of our private club for amazing people," he whispers, before catching me around the waist and spinning me around quickly in a circle, laughing.

When he drops me down I realize I've been holding my breath and gasp, but I'm feeling so damned happy and light. This is how I think a kid is supposed to feel, but like I somehow never managed to be when I was little. Childhood is overrated, I decide. Middle age is what I've been waiting for all my life.

When we get back to the house after our walk I discover that my period has started, and I feel a mix of disappointment and relief. Disappointment because this means I don't think we'll have quite so much sex this weekend. On the other hand, it's a sort of relief too, because less sex will give me time to think more about how I feel about us without being constantly distracted and overwhelmed by our mutual desire. And I'll be able to start taking the pill again, to prepare myself for unprotected sex with Edward. By the time we leave for San Francisco my period should be over so it won't get in the way of our plans. I feel a tingle of expectation running down my spine. Tomorrow, I will look into possible places for us to stay along the coast, after I send off my files to my editor. It will be nice to have some freedom again, working for myself without the feeling of someone looking over my shoulder.

Edward offers to vacuum while I make a beet salad for dinner. I smile at how domestic everything feels as I hear him humming along to the songs on my iPod that he's borrowed while he drags the vacuum cleaner from room to room. He has an amazing singing voice, warm and filled with emotion. He sounds completely unselfconscious and I really hope I'll get the chance to hear him play and sing sometime soon. I wonder idly if Rosalie knows any people in the entertainment business that could give someone like Edward an audition, in spite of the fact that I don't really want to share him with anyone right now. I feel as if he's someone destined for greatness, he just hasn't found out how yet.

We run much later than usual, and as we near the house on our return the sun is coming down. Out of breath, I stop and drop down on the sand with my legs stretched out in front of me, facing the ocean. It's so beautiful with strands of pink, orange and gold, and the darkness slowly descending from the mountain behind us like a huge midnight blue canopy. The wind is stronger now as the temperature is dropping.

Suddenly I'm aware of Edward sitting down behind me, shaping his body around mine. His chest is heaving against the curve of my back as he gets his breath back, his head rests on my shoulder and his legs are pressed against mine, long and lean. We're both hot and sweaty but somehow it doesn't matter, it's as if we're one. We're sharing body-heat, space and time together in this twilit moment between night and day, between now and tomorrow. It doesn't matter what went before or what will follow, because right now we have this. And as our breathing slows down, our bodies find the same rhythm, breathing as one. We sit like that, quiet, with the sound of the waves, our breaths and our heartbeats filling our senses until the sun disappears beneath the horizon.

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**A/N: So this was a sort of filler, a transition between places and a chance to let Bella and Edward catch up with everything that's happened between them. I think we're about half-way through the story by now, and soon we'll see how the trip to San Francisco turns out... Tell me if you have any ideas on that and I promise to take them into consideration. I love SF btw; it's one of my favorite cities in the world. Do you have any favorite places?**


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: Disclaimer - Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. Thanks to my dear beta, Trekgeezer, this chapter is now proofed and improved. Any errors remaining are all mine!**

* * *

_I like it when you're quiet. It's as if you weren't here now,_

_and you heard me from a distance, and my voice couldn't reach you._

_It's as if your eyes had flown away from you, and as if_

_your mouth were closed because I leaned to kiss you._

_It's then that what I want is to speak to your silence_

_in a speech as clear as lamplight, as plain as a gold ring._

_You are quiet like the night, and like the night you're star-lit._

_Your silences are star-like, they're a distant and a simple thing._

_I like it when you're quiet. It's as if you weren't here now._

_As if you were dead now, and sorrowful, and distant._

_A word then is sufficient, or a smile, to make me happy._

_Happy that it seems so certain that you're present._

Pablo Neruda: from "Twenty love poems:15"

* * *

**Chapter 29.**

**EPOV**

Amy has started working at the café, and since I will be working nine days straight, Kate suggests I take chief responsibility for showing her around during her first week, making her acquainted with our routines. I feel sort of proud that Kate trusts me this much, but nervous, too, in case I fuck something up. Carmen just laughs at me when I confide in her one morning.

"Get over yourself, Edward. You'll do just fine. You may still be wet behind the ears, but you're a smart boy. You just learned all this yourself so you remember what a new girl needs to know, and you have a hell of a lot more patience than I have. Plus, Amy would obviously love to tag around with you for the week, never fear."

She smiles a sarcastic smile and playfully swats the back of my head before going back to changing the towels. I rub my neck doubtfully. Then Amy walks in from the changing room in the back and greets me with a bright smile; now I've got other things to do than to stand around and worry.

Amy is really nice and easy to get along with. She asks smart questions and rarely needs to be told something twice. Amy seems like the kind of person who enjoys being busy and doesn't stand around waiting to be told what to do. I find myself laughing a lot when we work together, and even Jim lightens up a bit. I can tell that the customers like her because we get more tips in the glass jar by the cash register when she's serving behind the counter.

Amy and I get used to taking our short lunch break together most days this week, and we take our sandwiches outside to sit near the boardwalk and look at the people walking by. Friday is no different. We sit in a sort of park area a couple of minutes from the café with palm trees and bushes in bloom where we can watch joggers, au pairs with strollers and other people on their lunch break.

"I still haven't gotten over how exotic it feels to live in a place with palm trees," Amy remarks, nodding up at the swaying leaves above us. "Back in Philadelphia where I grew up, this would look like a postcard. I'm living in a fantasy!"

She laughs and blushes as a piece of sandwich goes flying from the corner of her mouth. Her fair hair is tied up in a ponytail. She's wearing a blue UCLA t-shirt and dark blue jeans. Amy looks pretty cute when she's embarrassed, like right now. She starts coughing, and I gently slap her back to make sure she's okay.

"So is that why you came to L.A.," I ask, "to see the palm trees?" She shakes her head, and takes a swig from her soda.

"No, the palm trees and sun were just a bonus. I got offered a scholarship here, and since I've always wanted to move away for college, I thought this was a good opportunity."

I want to ask if she misses her family, but that will inevitably lead to questions about mine, so I decide to steer clear of that subject altogether.

"So you won't be going home for the summer then?"

"No, I will be starting my senior year in August. I thought it would be good to stick around and prepare for it and work on my student research project. I've interviewed girls from differing cultural backgrounds about how they've experienced higher education. Then I plan to interview their mothers and grandmothers, whenever possible. I want to see if I can find similarities and differences between the generations in their views on women and higher education. I'm majoring in sociology but I'm also doing gender studies."

I smirk at her, amused. "You should tell Bella about your research. I'm sure she would find it interesting. She's into gender studies, too."

Amy looks at me with raised eyebrows. "Yeah, I was going to ask you about that. I haven't seen her around with you here, but you live with her, right? Kate mentioned it. Somewhere close to the beach? Are you two friends, or related or … something?" Her voice is tentative and I immediately feel my mouth setting into a hard line. I don't know what I should tell her. I frown at my hands, turning it over in my mind, uncomfortable.

Amy immediately backpedals. "Sorry, maybe that was rude. You don't have to explain anything to me. I'm just nosy. Sure, it would be great to meet again sometimes and maybe talk to her, if you think she would find this stuff interesting. I'm actually thinking of interviewing women working at the university next. My idea is to try and determine how much their ethnic and general family background has influenced their choice of an academic career."

I kind of zone out after that, while Amy chatters away. I'm squashing the saran wrap from my sandwich between my fingers, while I think about how I should introduce Bella at the barbecue tomorrow at Jim's. I'll have to ask her how she feels about it. Fortunately, it doesn't seem as if Jim's invited anyone else from work, so at least it will be a small party. Bella did say she wanted to be my girlfriend, but we just haven't tested that out officially yet. I feel the familiar twisting of my stomach when the inevitable thought pops up. "Yeah, your _girlfriend_, but not for much longer!" I swallow and push it away. I've been refusing to think about it all week and now is not the time. Instead, other girlfriend memories start drifting in, unbidden.

I remember sneaking around with Lindsay behind Michael's back. Although I was stupid enough to feel smug about the fact that I was cheating with a hot girl behind her boyfriend's back, it wasn't all fun and games. There were times when I had to watch them make out in the car or at a party when I was just itching to pull Lindsay aside and ask her what I was to her. Why couldn't she just make her mind up and either be with me or be with Michael. Those times I felt insecure and immature; just a warm body that Lindsay used for purposes known only to herself. I felt sick thinking that she secretly despised me. Sometimes I hooked up with other girls in a calculated attempt to make Lindsay jealous. She always ignored me and never mentioned it the next time she called me up to meet me, so I never knew if it had any effect on her at all. I was a coward for not asking her what she felt about me.

What I have with Bella is arguably different. We're both free to be with one another; no one's being used. It's more a question of how others will react to our relationship. I don't know if Bella is uncomfortable just because of the age difference or because she picked me up when I was dead broke and sleeping on the beach. Maybe it's because she's so much smarter, gentler and more mature than I could ever be. Still, on so many levels, I feel that we're equals, soul mates or whatever you want to call it.

Bella seems reserved, but she's really vulnerable. And although she's been taking care of me, she's also let me in, allowed me to care for her in the small ways that I can. Physically, it's as if we're magnetically drawn to one another. We're like two puzzle pieces fitting together perfectly, even though superficially the design doesn't seem right. This feeling of belonging with someone is what I've been waiting for all my life. It's just too bad that I had to arrive at this moment lugging so much crap from my past. Maybe it's karma that's taking Bella away from me. Or could it be that leaving really _is_ what's best for her?

Amy stands up and brushes crumbs from her jeans, and I pull out of my head, ready to follow her back to work. I relieve her of her trash to throw it away with mine. She smiles up at me when I return from the trash cans.

"Thank you, Edward. I hope you're not sick of me by now? I'm sorry that you got stuck with me this week, but I've really appreciated how you've helped me get the hang of everything." Her smile is genuine, but her eyes are worried, and I feel bad about clamming up on her like that. It's not her fault things are fucked up in my life.

I run my hand through my hair, still surprised at how much shorter it is, even if it feels more comfortable now than it did before. I shake my head at her question as we start walking back.

"It's no problem, really. I enjoy working with you. It's just, I'm not very good at talking about myself, okay? No offense, it's just not something I'm comfortable doing." I don't know what else to say without tangling myself in a bunch of cryptic comments, so I just smile apologetically. Amy shrugs.

"It's okay, I get it. We don't really know each other, and I can't expect you to talk about your private affairs with some random girl at work. But I hope you'll give me the chance to get to know you a tiny bit better?" Her eyes crinkle at the corners. "After all, if we're going to be working together all summer I hope we can do better than just 'Mop that up, please' or 'Could you take care of the dirty dishes from table eight?'" I smirk at her.

"Yeah, I was hoping by now we'd be at the stage where you go 'Edward, could you please let me clean the toilets' and I'd be all 'Well, Amy, if you think you're ready for that much responsibility, I'm willing to concede my toilet-cleaning privileges to you now.'" She rolls her eyes at me, and pretends to push me aside as she walks inside the café.

"Shut up, Edward. I will never take your toilet-cleaning privileges away from you, don't worry. They're all yours!"

"Hey, did you say "up yours" to me, young lady?" I shout after her, and am pleased to see Kate pop her head around the door to the office, frowning at Amy. Amy blushes and shakes her head as she dives into the employees' lunch room. I roll my eyes at Kate in a gesture meant to convey "Yeah, can you believe that girl!" before I hurry off to wash my hands, grab my apron and get ready to collect the clean dishes from the dishwasher.

Amy forgives me until later in the afternoon when I point out that, even if she gets tipped a lot, I'm really better looking and should therefore be up front serving more often. I suggest that it constitutes discrimination to keep all the male employees lugging things in the back, while all the female employees get to flirt with the customers. Since I opened early this morning I get to go home first, but before I take off for the day, I suggest we make it about money. When I get back from my four-day leave we're going to start competing for the largest tip of the day - equal opportunity and all.

"That will give you some time to work on your skills, Amy. I'm just saying it wouldn't be fair if you lost just because you served people bad coffee after becoming cross-eyed from smiling too much and measuring out the coffee grinds incorrectly." She throws a dish towel at me, but I pick it out of the air and elegantly send it on towards the laundry basket, crying "Touchdown!" I think I hear her mutter something about "immature," but I'm already on my way towards the back door. I stop a moment outside to see Jim. He's having his last smoke of the day since he will be taking off, too, in another hour or so.

"So, I'll see you at six o'clock tomorrow then, Jim?" I ask him. "I'm bringing Bella and we're taking some food and drink with us, is that okay?"

Jim shrugs a little, but his eyes twinkle at me when he replies. "Yup, that's fine. Lorraine will love it. You think you can find the place?" They live in another part of town with which I am unfamiliar, but I've got the address memorized and will ask Bella to look it up for me. Maybe she can drive and I will give her directions. This reminds me that I'll have to talk to her about arrangements for our trip up north. I hope she'll let me assist with the driving duties so she doesn't have to sit behind the wheel the whole time. I absentmindedly nod to Jim and leave the café behind.

On the way home (I feel another cold pang of dread at the fact that I've started to think of the house as "home") I decide to drop in at the Ink It Black bar. I want to see if there's a chance that I could borrow the piano for some practice after I leave work. I've felt torn between the impulse to just keep out of there, since Bella didn't seem to be completely comfortable with Tony hitting on her - or whatever he was up to - and the longing to get my hands on a piano again. I really miss the music, enough so that I'm willing to humiliate myself for an hour in a bar where other people can hear me making a fool of myself.

I make my way into the gloom of the bar with some hesitation. To my relief, I notice that there are only a few people hanging around, sipping beer and watching a replay of a football game on the flat-screen at one side of the bar. Maryann's the only person behind the counter, and her face lights up when she sees me.

"Hey, long time no see! Did you drop by for that drink or did you want to see me?" I can't help answering her cheeky smile with a smile of my own.

"Actually, I came here to ask if I could date your piano. Would it be okay if I just hung out for a bit and practiced? Do you think it would disturb those guys?" I nod over at the people watching the game.

Maryann shrugs. "If they ask me to I could just raise the volume, if that's okay by you?"

I nod. "And I can adjust the volume on the piano, too. Then you're fine with it?" She nods but looks kind of disappointed, so I mind my manners and try to strike up a conversation. "How have you been? I saw that you had a couple of guys over here playing live last weekend. They told me they played mostly classical blues. Were they any good?"

She wags her head so-so. "Yeah, well the crowd seemed to like them, but that's not really my kind of music."

I try to draw her out. "So, what is your kind of music? Foo Fighters? Evanescence? Green Day?"

She just laughs at me. "Keep guessing. Though I'd really like to hear you do a Foo Fighters cover on that piano. You did okay with Coldplay, even though I don't really like them, either."

I think for a bit. Foo Fighters isn't really on my repertoire, but I've always been good at picking out tunes by ear, both on the piano and the guitar, and I think I've got an idea.

"Can't make any promises. I might just end up playing Sinatra. But if you don't like it you can always come over and hit me over the head with that baseball bat of yours." I nod at her before walking over to the piano and pulling up a chair. She gives me a sort of "you have my blessing" hand gesture and resumes polishing glasses.

I turn the power on, check the settings and make sure that the volume is low before I start tinkering around, warming up. I don't want to plague the people in here by practicing scales and technical stuff, so I start up with a couple of simple tunes while I think about Maryann's challenge. I like Nick Drake, so I play "One of These Things First" and "Fly". I see Maryann giving me the thumbs up. She nods when I interpret her gesture as encouragement to raise the volume a bit so she can hear me better over there. Then, just for fun, I play "My Way", and see her scowling and gesturing threateningly towards the counter where she showed me she keeps the baseball bat. I just smirk and play on, because there are a couple of people who are nodding along to the song in spite of how cheesy a choice it may seem.

Then I tentatively start trying to pick out "Come Alive," one of the few songs I know by Foo Fighters. It's kind of hard to convey the melody without singing the lyrics, so I hum the tune under my breath, repeating the verse and chorus until I feel I've got it down. Then I improvise the climax at the end with intricate variations on the melody weaving up and down, high and low on the piano, ending up in a sort of repeated syncopated rhythm fading out into nothingness. It would probably sound better on the guitar, but I'm still kind of pleased with the result.

When I look up I see that the bar is filling up with people. I realize it's time to get home to Bella. I close up the piano, replace the chair and walk up to the counter. I patiently wait for Maryann to finish serving up cold beers to a party of four who seem to have just come from work and are starting the weekend early. I idly look at them wondering what they do for a living – shirts and ties and jeans indicate maybe some kind of office work – until Maryann comes over. She shakes her head at me.

"I've got no idea what that song was, but it sounded good. Did you just make it up?"

"No, I'm not that talented. It was a Foo Fighters song, just like you requested. Look it up on the Internet if you like. It's called "Come Alive." I may even sing it to you sometime, if we're ever alone in the bar," I promise, since I don't think this is likely to happen. "Thank you for letting me play. Tell Tony I said 'hi' when you see him." This seems safe, too, since he's not around.

Maryann leans forward across the counter and grabs my hand. "You never stay very long, Edward. You're very … elusive. Why don't you come in on Monday when we're closed and the place is empty; you could have as much time to practice as you like then."

I hesitate. "I work until seven this Monday. And anyway, if you're closed, how would I even get in?"

Maryann smiles, and her dark eyes twinkle at me.

"We live above the shop, Tony and I. All you have to do is come round to the side door and ring the bell to our apartment. I'll be here around seven, no problem. I could let you in, if you promise to play me something. Do we have a deal?" She squeezes my hand briefly before letting go, and I feel the ghost of her impression on my skin.

I rub my neck, then nod. "Okay, but I probably won't stay too long. If you're sure that it's no trouble?"

She shakes her head, and her shiny, straight hair flies. "None whatsoever. I'd love to have you come over." I sort of like her because she's so straightforward, even if she intimidates me a bit, too. I smile and wave as I head for the door. I'm already looking forward to having some more time practicing in peace.

When I step out onto the sidewalk I almost run into Tony, who's on his way in. He flinches then puts a hand on my shoulder, whether to stop me or to stabilize himself I don't know.

"Hi there, Edward!" He looks over my shoulder, and seems to realize that I'm on my own. He frowns.

"So, I haven't seen Bella around all week. Is she all right, do you know?" He kind of shuffles his feet and I get the feeling that he's not comfortable asking me about Bella. Nor should he be, since she didn't seem to like him.

"Bella doesn't really visit bars a lot, as far as I know," I say, trying to keep the scowl off my face.

Tony sighs, and straightens up, looking around as if Bella might magically appear on the sidewalk.

"No, of course, I see. I didn't really expect her to turn up here, I meant at the coffee shop."

Now it's my turn to feel confused. "What coffee shop? I work in the café on the beach, Kate's Place, but Bella doesn't work there. Why would you … ?"

He shakes his head. "No, it's nothing, it's just that last week I saw her around a lot more in the neighborhood. She seemed to get her coffee from this place I go to and ... well, when you guys were at the bar last weekend I got the feeling I had pissed her off. I just wanted to see if she was okay, that's all. When you see her, will you give her my number and tell her that I want to talk to her, if that's all right?"

He pulls out a wallet from the back pocket of his dark blue jeans and hands me a business card. What am I, a fucking secretary now? I take the card between my fingers carefully, as if it was something that might bite me, but don't make any promises.

"I'll tell Bella you said 'hi'," I say. "See you around, I guess." I decide not to tell him about Maryann's invitation to come by on Monday, since I'm not sure I want him to be around then. It would probably be better if it was just Maryann and me. Or, just me. Or, come to think of it, Bella and me. It would be nice to be able to play something for Bella in private. But if Tony finds out, he'll probably hover, itching to "talk to Bella." Ugh. He may be a nice guy, but I don't like the effect he seems to have on her. I jerk my head in a sort of goodbye gesture, and saunter off. Tony stands there for a beat, as if he wanted to say something more, then shrugs and walks into the bar.

When I come back to the house, I find Bella hunched over the computer in her room. She looks up and smiles when she sees me, but her eyes are clouded and she seems troubled.

I kiss her neck and bury my nose in the hair behind her ear, feeling the little shiver that runs through her at my touch. Her hand snakes up into my hair, tugging on it softly, which I love.

"Is something wrong?" I ask her, letting my hands skim her back in a soothing motion, as I look over her shoulder at the screen.

"Bad day, that's all," she mutters. "Don't worry, I'll get over it. To make myself feel better, I'm looking at places to stay when we drive up the coast next week. Do you have any preferences?"

I shake my head. "No, not any that I can think of. It doesn't have to be anything fancy, as long as I get to sleep with you." And that's the truth.

"There's this interesting place called the Esalen institute, but they say on the home page you can't be sure they'll have a place for you unless you're booked into one of their classes. It's very New Age. Maybe Monterey would be kind of perfect for a stop-over. Have you ever been there?"

"No, I've never seen the Big Sur or much of California before, so it's all going to be new to me. Why don't we just drive up the coast and look for a place when we feel ready to stop? They can't all be fully booked, can they?"

Bella looks doubtful. "No, you're probably right, it's just that Highway 1 runs through a lot of national parks and there are not that many motels along the road. That means our choices are limited."

I squat down so that our faces are level with one another and I capture her soft lips with mine. Closing my eyes, I revel in the feeling of her cheek under my palm, and the tentative way she opens up to me and lets me feel her silky tongue. I deepen the kiss before I remind myself that Bella has her period and that there probably won't be much going down tonight. I hold myself back and finish with some chaste kisses before letting her go.

"Well, I've slept on the beach before, so we could always stop at one of those national parks and just snuggle up in the sand." I wiggle my eyebrows at her. "Bet it would be way more comfortable with you and me in the same sleeping bag?"

She shakes her head at me and rolls her eyes. "Yeah, well, let me tell you, I'm not sleeping outside with anything less than a tent and an inflatable mattress. And, my father would add, a shotgun. Not that I don't trust your camping skills, but I'd rather not test them out on a California beach."

I stand up and flex my legs, then remember the card in my jeans pocket. I frown as I fish it out.

"Hey, I've got a message for you from Tony at the bar."

Bella's head jerks up and she looks at me, surprised.

"Did you meet him? He left a message for me?" I'm not sure how to interpret her expression. Is she excited, displeased or just stunned?

"Yeah, well, I used the piano in the bar for some practice and then ran into him on the way out. He seemed to think that he'd offended you or something, and asked me to tell you to call him. If you wanted to, that is."

I try to wipe the scowl off my face because I don't think it's my place to tell Bella what to do, one way or the other. If she wants to call him, fine. If she wants to meet with him, fine. If she wants to read fucking poetry with the asshole it's fucking fine! I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes. I need a shower and a beer, preferably in that order.

"Okay, so I'll just go take a shower now, and then I think I'll need something to eat. How about you?"

Bella is turning the business card over between her fingers, looking distracted.

"Oh, there's some eggplant parmesan in the fridge if you'd like to eat that with some pasta or some bread and a salad. I can heat it for you while you wash up if you want." She looks up at me, and her lovely dark eyes are worried. Am I freaking her out or is it Tony's message that has her thinking too hard? I try to smile a reassuring smile, and reach out to touch her hair.

"Thank you, that sounds great. If it's not too much trouble, could you boil some pasta? And please join me; it would be nice to have dinner with you tonight. We could run later, if you want to."

Bella smiles up at me and leans her head into my hand. My inside clenches with a mix of tenderness and desire. I want her so much it's distracting and ridiculous, and now I _really_ need the privacy of my bathroom.

When I walk into the kitchen later, my hair messy and still damp from the shower, Bella has already set the table for two and is draining the pasta. She looks over at me and bites her lip, before returning her attention to what she's doing. I smile, because I think I know what's going through her mind.

When I hug her from behind, she sighs and leans into my body, relaxing against me, setting the bowl down on the counter so that she can hold my arms tighter around her.

"Is your period bothering you?" I ask. I really have no idea and I don't know if I want to know, but I've heard that women have cramps and stuff. Maybe that's why Bella seems a little off.

She shakes her head. "No, well, it's not bad anyway. I took a painkiller earlier today and now I feel fine. I saw Dr. Banner this afternoon, though, and she gave me a lot to think about. Sorry if I seemed distant before. It's really got nothing to do with you, so I shouldn't take it out on you. Let's just have a quiet evening and talk about the trip next week, okay?"

Her voice is gentle but matter-of-fact. I don't feel comfortable asking her questions about her trip to the shrink, even though I'm sort of dying to know what goes on there. I don't feel that I know her mind at all. I wonder what her life was like before I met her, how she really feels about me or what she's looking for in her life now. Does she really want to go to England?

Going with her to San Francisco is a big deal. It's the first chance I'll get to take a peek at the life she lived there, maybe meet people she knows, learn something more about her plans for the future. Whenever I think about the future now, my mind does a double take. First, it recoils as if from fire - _don't go there_ - because for months I've made myself think that I don't have a future, or shouldn't have one. Then, it unfurls, tentative like a green leaf, probing the possibility that my future may unfold before me, a new kind of life with a new identity. I see myself building something from scratch, with only my wits and talents. I could ignore the past and try to become a new Edward, a man worthy of being with someone like Bella. I could have a new beginning, and then maybe a new forever.

As we eat, I'm thoughtful, barely keeping up my end of the conversation. Bella finally leans forward and touches my hand, smiling a question.

"Is everything all right, Edward? Did you have a bad day at work?"

I shake my head and smile back at her.

"Apart from being bugged all day by the nosy new girl? Nah, it's all good." When Bella raises her eyebrows, I explain: "Kate thought it would be a good idea if I mentored Amy. You remember Amy, don't you? We met her with Kate and the others at the bar." Bella nods, her eyebrows furrowing.

"You danced with her," she says, matter-of-factly.

"Yes, that's her. Anyway, she's going to be working at the café on and off all summer, when the regular staff take turns going on vacation. She told me she hopes to be able to jump in if Kate needs her after the summer, too, because she needs the extra cash. Kate asked me to do her a favor and open early a couple of times with Amy this week. Then we close the place Sunday through Tuesday so she knows what needs to be done." I feel as if I'm rambling, so I lean back in my chair and drag my hand through my hair. Bella is watching me, impassive.

"You're doing Kate a favor?" she asks.

"Yeah, since I'm messing up the schedule by taking four days off, she thought it would only be fair if I made sure Amy was ready to pitch in for me by the time I leave." I smile. "She's a quick learner, but she keeps giving me grief about cleaning the toilets. She says that this is obviously why Kate hired _me_. Since I'm full of shit, according to her." I really have a lot of fun together with Amy. She's so snarky and quick on the uptake. I like that kind of confidence in a girl.

"So what does Amy do, when she's not bugging you at the café?" Bella puts some more salad on her plate and refills our water glasses.

"She's a student of sociology; oh, and that's right, I told her she might want to talk to you about her project. She's into gender studies, and is interviewing women in higher education, and their mothers and grandmothers, about their attitudes to education. I think she's trying to look into family backgrounds or something." I remember something and lean forward, looking straight at Bella.

"What about you? Did your parents go to college? How did they feel about you taking your PhD in English? Were they proud?"

Bella shrugs. "Of course, parents are always proud when their kids do well, but as to your question, no, they didn't go to college. They met in high school. My mother got pregnant with me, my father trained as a police officer and started working as soon as possible to support us. My mother stayed at home. That is, until they broke up, and she took off with me across the country." Bella looks down at her plate as she speaks, but I would really like to see her eyes.

"My mother never went to college, but she's taken all kinds of classes: from arts and crafts to health and beauty to business evening school." Bella finally looks up at me, and her eyes are far away, kind but tired. "She was always trying out new things, you see, looking for the one thing that would make her happy; making pottery or jewelry, yoga instructor, health food saleswoman. In between she did some stints in stores or offices or teaching, just to make some money. She has a lot of talent, but she's restless." She sighs, and pushes her plate to the side.

"I think my mother could probably have been anything she wanted, if she had just been able to make up her mind to stick to one thing for long enough. It wasn't until she met Phil that she started to settle down, and then I was, what, fourteen years old? We'd been living in Phoenix for a couple of years by then, and when Phil and Renee wanted to go on the road again, I'd had enough. I wanted to finish high school in one place, take advanced classes in peace and not have to worry about my grades being disrupted by moving around every year. Plus, I knew that Phil was going to take care of my mother from there on – they were crazy in love, embarrassingly so to a teenager. So, I left Renee and moved in with my Dad in Washington State, and that's where I graduated."

I watch her thoughtfully. "It sounds like you had a rough time as a kid. Moving around must have made it hard to make friends. And you mother doesn't sound very … responsible. Did she take care of you, or did you take care of her?"

Bella laughs, a short laugh, and her eyes crinkle at the corners, those happy wrinkles that I love, even if her laugh doesn't really sound happy.

"Oh, Renee was the best friend a girl could have, but she didn't really know how to be a mother, that's true. We had each other, though, so everything worked out just fine. School was rough, but I think it was the same for a lot of other kids, too. Didn't you tell me you were teased in school? Anyway, I graduated with top grades from high school and got a scholarship to study in Chicago, so everything ended well. Charlie had tried to put away money for a college fund; Renee never thought that far ahead. I knew I needed a scholarship, so that's why grades were important to me. How about you?"

I feel uncomfortable getting into details about my past, because that will inevitably lead to lying. I feel less and less comfortable lying to Bella, the closer I've gotten to her.

"My parents have money, so I didn't need a scholarship, although if they had been poor I would probably have been able to apply for one. I've always tried to get top grades or win first place, I don't know why. I'm competitive, I guess." I shrug.

"So both your parents went to college?" Bella looks curious, but also cautious, as if she knows questions about my family could be loaded. She just doesn't know to what degree. I ponder how much I can tell her.

"I lived with my adoptive parents since I was very young, and they are both professionals with college educations. So yes, they expected me to go to college and were prepared and able to pay."

Bella is quiet for a beat, then it comes: "Were you happy with them?"

I don't really know how to answer that question.

"I … don't know. It's complicated. They took good care of me, but I was an unhappy kid. I can see now that it wasn't so much their fault as something I carried around inside me." Bella looks puzzled, so I try to elaborate. "I mean that it was easy for me to be unhappy. Maybe it's hereditary, like red hair. I don't remember very much of my birth mother, but I think she was an unhappy woman."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Bella asks, probably sensing my discomfort.

"No, not really. It's all in the past now, anyway." I sigh, and pull my hand through my hair.

"Are you unhappy now?" Bella's voice is level and she holds my gaze, unflinching.

I shake my head and smile. "Since I've been with you? No. I can safely say, I've seldom been this happy in my life. It's like when you're a kid and you wake up in the morning feeling all bubbly. At first you don't know why, but then you remember: It's Christmas day. That's how you make me feel."

Bella blushes, and suddenly I have the strong urge to tell her that I love her, but I choke back the words, thinking about the end of summer. If I tell her that, will she believe me? Or will she think that I'm trying to manipulate her into taking me with her? I want it to mean something to her when I say the words, and I have to think about how to do it. I can't just blurt it out.

"I always think of you as a person with a great capacity for happiness, Edward. I've seen you with other people, and they usually look happy to be with you. People light up around you. It's too bad if you can't feel that in yourself. I feel happy around you, too, and I hope you know that. Maybe I'm not that good at showing how I feel." Her hand sneaks across the table and touches my cheek where I'm leaning on my hand, watching her while she speaks.

"Oh, I think you've made it clear how you feel about me, Bella, don't worry," I smirk at her, trying to turn the conversation around to a lighter tone. But to be honest, I don't know. Does she love me? Is she fond of me? Does she have a crush on me? Or does she just lust after me? I hope what I see shining in her eyes is love, or the beginning of love, but I don't know yet if it will be strong enough to keep us together.

We clear the table and sit for an hour with her laptop, looking at pictures and maps of the Big Sur, talking about how many hours we want to spend on the road driving, and where we might stop to take a look around. Bella has already booked us into a hotel near Union Square in San Francisco for Thursday night. We decide to head for Monterey on the way up, stay there Wednesday night, and leave it open how far we'll drive on the way back Friday. It will depend on when we leave San Francisco.

I tell Bella that if she's comfortable letting me get behind the wheel, we could take turns driving. She looks at me, her voice teasing:

"I don't know, Edward, are you a good driver?" I put my arm around her and kiss the side of her throat.

"Bella, I'm good at _everything_," I smirk, sarcastically. She squirms around a little in my arms as my mouth travels down. I expose part of her shoulder, then kiss my way back up to her ear lobe. She draws a deep breath when I suck on it, then twists her head around so that our lips meet. I love her kisses, tentative and soft, then turning bold as she sucks on my bottom lip and explores my mouth with her sweet tongue. It's too bad we won't have sex tonight, but kissing Bella tops most of the sex I've had before in terms of arousal.

When it gets to the point where she's starting to really drive me crazy, I groan and pull back, leaning my forehead against hers. "Time out, or I'm going to attack you right here on the couch."

Bella pants. "Okay. Time out. You've got me convinced. You're such a good kisser; you must be a good driver, too." She smiles up at me, tracing my lips with her finger. "And if you drive I'll get the chance to enjoy the scenery more."

I chuckle. "Exactly what scenery are you referring to, Ms. Swan?"

She arches her eyebrow at me. "Why, I always watch whatever view is the most appealing, Mr Masen." It's a long time before we get off that couch.

* * *

**A/N: So, I've seen that some readers complain that the age difference makes this relationship unbelievable: please note that Bella (and I) so far seem to be in perfect agreement with you on that point, lol! But this is a Twilight fan fiction, not real life! Is the relationship between a 107-year-old vampire and a human teenage girl really believable? To me, Twilight was always about hope and wanting to believe in an impossible love. It's often not the mundane or the realistic stories that make us happy. It's the fantasy that, for a moment, makes us believe we could overcome the impossible. So, either we suspend disbelief and take the leap of imagination, or we stay grounded in how we know that the real world works. It's every man's and woman's choice, really. But I know what makes **_**me**_** happy. I hope you know where to find your happiness, too! *cue "Defying Gravity"* Thank you for reading!**


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: Disclaimer - Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. A big hand for my diligent beta, Trekgeezer, for managing to edit this chapter when she's been crazy busy!**

* * *

_His gaze has grown so tired from the bars_

_passing, it can't hold anything anymore._

_It is as if there were a thousand bars_

_and behind a thousand bars nothing._

_The soft gait of powerful supple strides,_

_which turns in the smallest of all circles,_

_is like a dance of strength around a center_

_where an imperious will stands stunned._

_Only at times the curtain of the pupils_

_silently opens -. Then an image enters,_

_passes through the taut stillness of the limbs –_

_and in the heart ceases to be._

Rainer Maria Rilke: The Panther.

* * *

**Chapter 30.**

**BPOV**

Before Edward leaves in the morning, he kisses me goodbye and tells me to come to pick him up around five when his shift ends. It's Jim's day off, so he will be at home with his family, expecting us any time after five. Edward will bring a change of clothes to work and shower there to save time.

I do yoga, have breakfast, put in a load of laundry and then decide to make some Indian vegetarian samosas with curry, carrots, potatoes and peas to take with me to the barbecue. There's a bottle of Chardonnay and a six-pack of beer in the fridge that I plan to bring as a gift for the hostess. I don't know what Jim and his family like, but I know he has kids, so I've bought some Ben & Jerry's, too. Ice cream never hurts. Maybe I'm overdoing this, but I really want Edward's friend from work to like me. I don't want to reflect badly on him, and this might be the first time we come out as couple. Edward said he'd been told to bring a friend, but if they ask I don't want to lie about our relationship. He wouldn't object, I'm sure, but he would be hurt.

I remember the half resentful air he gave off when he handed me Tony's card, yet he didn't say anything. I wonder, does he seriously think he has any reason to be jealous of a guy like Tony? It would probably help if he felt that he had a clear claim on me, though. I realize this is all kinds of backwards; normally I should be the one who can't wait to show Edward off as a prize to others, and he should be interested in keeping our relationship on the down low so as not to scare away other potential lovers. Instead, he seems impatient to tell the world about us, while I hesitate, afraid of being judged.

This reminds me that I should probably try to give Tony a call and find out what he wants from me. While the dough for the samosas rests, I wash my hands and take my phone with me to the living room window where I can look out towards the beach. Tony picks up almost immediately. I see no reason to beat around the bush.

"Hi, this is Bella Swan. Edward told me you wanted to talk to me." There's a brief pause at the other end of the line, then I hear him clearing his voice before speaking. It's as I remember it - deep, resonant, masculine - the kind of voice you expect to hear on a radio commercial.

"Hello, Bella, I'm so glad you called. Actually, I wanted to apologize if I came on too strong the last time we met. Would you meet me just to have a cup of coffee?"

I'm surprised, and maybe I sound a bit defensive when I reply. "There's no need to apologize. I just needed that book back."

He doesn't miss a beat. "But I upset you, I could tell, and I'm sorry. Maryanne tells me that sometimes I have a habit of flirting with strangers, and that can be offensive to some people. I don't know if I offended you, but if I did I hope you'll give me another chance. I would still like to talk about Ondaatje with you, or anything else you feel like talking about, really. How about a quick cup of coffee just to show you that I can actually behave?"

I think this is as good a time as any to be blunt. "Okay, to be honest, you've made me a little uncomfortable because I feel like I don't know what you're after. If that's because you're flirting, then I would prefer that you don't. Talking over a cup of coffee is fine." Actually, I would enjoy talking to another person who loves books; I just have a hard time seeing him as that person. But it would be stupid to judge him unheard. I think I can hear the smile in his voice when he continues.

"All right, it's a deal, definitely no flirting. How about this afternoon, then? I usually go out for coffee around three o'clock. Do you want to meet up at the Bistro?" I roll my eyes. Now he comes across as a pushy salesman but perhaps he's not selling himself, just eager to make this right.

"I have a few things I must do and I have to be somewhere at five, but if we can make it just a quick cup of coffee, then three o'clock is fine," I reply, trying to sound efficient but not unfriendly.

"Excellent. Thank you Bella – I'll see you this afternoon." He pauses. "Oh, and if you're held up, now you have my number."Does he suspect that I plan to back out? I purse my lips and reply, too sweetly:

"Yes_, thank you_. Bye."

Ugh, I'm too sarcastic and too suspicious for my own good. I'll probably end up scaring everyone I meet away. I sigh and go back to dicing and frying the vegetables. Yesterday at Dr. Banner's office we got to talking about my childhood in earnest for the first time, and it wasn't pleasant. She never tells me what she's thinking, leaving me to draw my own conclusions as to what she's trying to get at with her questions. Somehow that's how she leads me in the direction she wants.

I think Dr. Banner was trying to get me to admit that I am angry at my parents for not being supportive enough, but I really don't see why that would be helpful. She made me angry, and then in some weird way she proved her point: I was angry! I huff in frustration, but I'm NOT angry! Well, I'm not angry at my parents in particular anyway. Maybe I'm angry at myself for lacking self-discipline and for letting others push me around. Or, maybe I'm angry at the people who bullied me.

I take out the rolling pin and attack the dough, flattening it out and cutting it into circles. All the while I'm frowning to myself. Dr. Banner spent an hour yesterday prodding me with a Freudian stick, while I sulked and resisted. One good thing about that was that we didn't talk much at all about Edward. Thus, our budding relationship completely slipped the conversation. Somehow, I think that was another resistance technique on my part. But frankly, if I can't talk about Edward to a professional counselor who's ethically bound by doctor-patient confidentiality, how will I ever be able to admit publically to him being my boyfriend? I will, I will, I will, I tell myself. It's going to be fine. Just peachy.

After frying the samosas in vegetable oil and putting them out to dry on paper towels, I make myself a big salad with avocado and fried tofu. I take it out on the deck, hoping to get the smell of frying oil out of my hair while enjoying the sea breeze. I relax and allow myself to revel in a feeling of liberty. Not only am I done with the book, I'll be going on a vacation of sorts with someone I love spending time with. Plus, I have some interesting ideas I want to discuss with Dr. Cope next week. I've always wanted to go to England. Even though it would be a thousand times better to experience England with Edward, it's still a dream come true.

So now I'm thinking about Edward. It's what I do a lot of the time, a kind of default operation of my brain. I remember the way he looks and smells, the little hairs on the back of his lovely hands, the way I feel when those hands wrap around me, gently stroking my hair, entangling my knees, trapping my hips, capturing my heart. His lips, full and red, yet completely masculine; I think about how soft they are on mine, and how much pleasure they give me when he kisses his way down into my secret places, the places only he can find. He's carved out his own room inside me, a place I'm beginning to doubt that anyone else will be able to fill. How did this happen? How did he become so important to me?

My eyes fill with tears because it hurts. It's a good pain - a blooming, heavy, warm pain that expands my heart, that says "love," that reminds me I'm alive, and that I want to be alive to feel it. It's a searing, burning cold pain, too. It shrinks my insides and says "loss." It reminds me that life can make you wish you were dead. To feel this is to know that I'm mortal.

I clean up the kitchen and take care of the laundry, then it's time to get ready. I put on a hint of make-up, just enough to give me the boost of confidence I need. I decide to walk to the coffee shop and come back later for the car and the food, before I drive to the café to pick up Edward. After locking up the house, I put on my sunglasses. The weather is really too warm for a jacket so I decide I don't need any more protection today. I walk past the second-hand shop Edward pointed out to me. This is probably where he found the lovely dress he gave me. I can't resist stopping to browse through the cardboard boxes filled with books on the sidewalk outside. I pick up a battered copy of "Chinamen" and a barely touched slim volume of Wilfred Owen's poems. Since most of my books are in storage, this is like finding old friends in unexpected places.

When I get to the coffee shop, it's five minutes to three and Tony is sitting at "my" table in the corner. He looks up with a smile as I enter. Getting up, he moves quickly across the room and meets me at the counter, holding his hand out in greeting. I only hesitate a second before shaking his hand, which is warm and firm, calloused and slightly scratchy in my palm.

"Nice to see you Bella. So glad you could make it. What can I get you?"

I almost brush him off with a "I can get my own drink, thank you" comment, but remind myself that I should try to be nice. So I smile and ask for a skim milk latte. He orders a double espresso for himself, then gestures for me to sit down while he gets our drinks. I sit with my back against the wall and try to relax and think positive thoughts. We sort of match: he's wearing a pair of black Levi's and a Slipknot band t-shirt, while I'm wearing black jeans and a dark-green Ralph Lauren t-shirt Rosalie gave me. We're both wearing black Chucks. Is it pathetic or cool when grown men and women like us dress like teenagers? I can't decide.

He puts my drink down gently in front of me, then flows into his seat. He's incredibly sinuous, like a big cat, which is fascinating but seems to get my hackles up at the same time. Men with a lot of physical confidence have always intimidated me. He smiles, and his teeth look white in his lightly tanned face, but it's a guileless kind of smile, not predatory at all. He looks genuinely pleased to see me. I sigh inaudibly.

"So, you liked the poems?" I ask, carefully sipping my latte. Mmm, it's really good.

He nods, shaking a strand of dark hair out of his eyes. He needs a haircut, just like Edward did. Maybe I should recommend Carmen to him? I bite back a smile at the thought.

"Yeah, I like the way he manages to be in his head and in his body at the same time. I don't like poets who get too cerebral, where the words feel like spindly steel constructions that aren't going anywhere. On the other hand, I'm not too fond of the gushy, metaphor-ridden poets either. Their words feel like people who lean too close, spitting in your face when they talk."

Now I smile a full-on smile, genuinely amused by his words. "I think I know what you mean, although surely those are extremes? You mentioned Walt Whitman before – where does he fall on your scale?"

His answering smile is warm. "Oh, Walt is definitely more an "in the body" kind of guy, but he never loses control of where he's going with it. He's more flowery than Hemingway, to be sure, but still very aware of the cock in his pants and the grit under his fingernails."

I glance at his decorated arms and wonder briefly if his tattoos are a sign of insecure masculinity, or just the opposite. "Your comparison to Hemingway is interesting. Do you think both of them grappled with their homosexuality through their writing?"

Tony shrugs, but looks thoughtfully at the table between us. "I've never been particularly interested in the connection between biography and books. I figure, any human being is so complicated it would be naïve to assume that you could get all the answers about a man from his writings. Then, it would be equally absurd to think that the definitive meaning of a work resides within the life of its author."

I nod, noticing how blue his eyes look when the light from the window falls on his face. "No, I think you're right, but that doesn't mean it can't be fascinating to compare a writer's life to his work, looking for clues and insights." His eyes can be very intense, like right now, when he's looking at me straight on, his coffee cup cradled in his hands is seemingly forgotten as he speaks.

"But people have been speculating about who Shakespeare was for hundreds of years, and are really none the wiser for it. His work is still outstanding and speaks for itself." I tear my gaze away from Tony's face and gulp down some rapidly cooling latte.

"Funny you should mention Shakespeare. I've done a lot of work on his writing, and of course you're right. Most of the theories about him being this noble or that writer working under a pseudonym, sound farfetched and pretty ridiculous when you dig into them. On the other hand, the more you listen to the arguments, the more you start thinking that Shakespeare himself doesn't make any sense. How could he have had a good grasp of such a wide range of subjects, literature and history when he's supposed to have grown up in the country, fairly uneducated? Where did this wonderful imagination and this amazing gift for language come from? The more you think about it the easier it is to believe that maybe Shakespeare was an alien or a time traveler from the future."

Tony leans back in his chair and laughs, and I smile with him. I like the laugh wrinkles around his eyes, they make him look relaxed and a lot younger, not so intimidating.

"Okay, so your theory is that Shakespeare came from outer space? Did you write a book about this?" Tony sounds gently mocking, but I don't bristle.

"Actually I didn't write my book about that, but now that I think about it, maybe I should have?" I put my cup down firmly on the dark wood of the table, mock serious. "I'll have to write this down as soon as I come home. After all, I could write it under a pseudonym to make some bucks while I'm still being taken seriously at the university." It sounds kind of fun, and I immediately start thinking up possible assignments for a creative writing class, combining science fiction and the Renaissance.

Tony looks at me, amused. "You sort of mean it, don't you? What do you do at the university, Bella, when you're not teaching Alien 101, that is?"

I fiddle with my cup, suddenly a bit shy to be talking about myself. "Oh, I teach English literature and creative writing. I've just finished writing what I hope will be a textbook you can use when teaching literary theory. I've been here on sabbatical this spring, but I'm leaving at the end of summer."

Tony bites the inside of his cheek, in what seems like a nervous gesture, before he asks me,

"So, I ran into Edward, and he obviously gave you my phone number. How do you guys know each other, again?"

It's an innocent question, and Tony can't possibly know how loaded it seems to me. My mouth feels dry, but I try to speak unaffectedly, looking him in the eye.

"We met here, and he needed a place to stay. Since I have plenty of room, he moved in some weeks ago. We get along really well." I brace myself. "Actually, we've sort of started seeing each other. How about you?" Offense is the best defense, I reason, and I have the satisfaction of seeing Tony look kind of flummoxed at my question.

"What about me?" he blurts out.

"Well are you seeing someone? I sort of assumed that you and Maryanne were an item, but maybe you're just friends?"

Tony scratches the back of his head and looks towards the window, seemingly searching for words.

"Maryanne and me … that's kind of complicated." He falls silent.

"Try me, I think I can keep up," I say, a bit archly. A shadow falls over his face, and it's got nothing to do with the light in the room. He licks his lips, then tries again.

"We share an apartment, as friends. We used to be more, but that was … some time ago. We've known each other for a long time. We were friends, then lovers, and now we're friends again. I don't expect people to understand how we work; that's why I rarely talk about it."

I frown at him.

"It's funny, you two seem very close whenever I see you together. Was it a mutual decision – to go back to being just friends, I mean?"

Tony looks at me, and maybe there's some hurt in his eyes, I don't know.

"Yes, it was a mutual decision. That's why we can still share an apartment and be partners at work."

"So, it doesn't make dating other people … I don't know, awkward?" I know I'm probably being rude, but I'm genuinely curious. I don't know if I could stick around to watch James dating other women right under my nose, even if I didn't want to get back with him myself.

"Neither of us dates much," is Tony's curt reply. I can see that a shutter has come down. I shift in my chair, uncomfortable.

"Sorry," I mutter. "I didn't mean to pry. It's just a bit unusual for a couple who are ex-lovers to still want to live together. I'm sure I couldn't do it."

Tony looks at me, his closed look thawing slightly.

"So, if you and Edward sort of _stopped_ seeing each other, would he have to move out?" I tense at his words. Is he being sarcastic?

"No, of course not. We were friends first, and I would never do that to a friend. If _he_ wanted to move out, that's different, of course. I wouldn't kick him out just because we had a falling out with each other." At least, that's what I'd like to think, but if he came home with Amy, I'd probably go after them both with a flamethrower! There's no need to tell Tony this, though.

"Hey, look at the time." I nod at the fake gold clock on the wall picking up my purse and book bag from the floor. "I've got to run."

Tony looks around, bewildered, then stands up with me. He holds out his hand again, and I shake it, but he holds onto it, anchoring me at his side for a moment.

"Listen, Bella, it was nice talking to you, and I hope I haven't offended you with anything I've said?" Since he seems to expect an answer, I shake my head, waiting for a chance to withdraw my hand from his warm grasp without seeming rude.

"I brought a book for you." He finally releases my hand and bends down. Picking up a small bag from the floor where it was concealed by the table, he holds it out for me. Hesitating, I take it from him, and look inside. It's a paperback in good shape. Tony is rocking back on his heels and pushing one hand into his jean pocket, the other one fluttering around his head for a moment. It's as if he wants to tug on his hair but is afraid to mess it up.

"It's 'The Book of Illusions' by Paul Auster. Have you read it?" I shake my head, no. "Great, well in that case, please borrow it. I'd like to know what you think, whenever you have the time."

I hesitate, but I'll have more time for leisure reading now that I've finished my manuscript. It's always interesting to share a person's mind by sharing the books he reads, so I nod and give him a tentative smile.

"Sure, but don't call me Monday asking if I've read it. I'll be pretty busy next week, so let me get back to you sometime after that, okay?"

Tony kind of beams at me as we walk out of the coffee shop together; he holds the door for me. I clutch the bag in my hand, and stop abruptly outside.

Tony turns to me and says:

"You never asked me which one was my favorite."

I frown up at him. The light is so bright out here I can't make out the look on his face.

"Sorry?" I ask, a bit bewildered by the change of subject, "your favorite what?"

"My favorite poem from 'The Cinnamon Peeler'."

I pause, waiting for him to continue, then smile.

"Okay, which _was_ your favorite poem from 'The Cinnamon Peeler'?"

His voice is low, but I catch his words: "The one about the cinnamon peeler's wife. Next time we meet, I'll tell you why."

I try to remember the words to that poem, but I only remember one line that I had marked because it stuck with me: "wounded without the pleasure of a scar." There's a silence that neither one of us seems to know how to break.

"Let's say goodbye here," I suggest, suddenly eager to be on my own again. Tony looks surprised, but complies.

"All right. Goodbye, Bella. I had a good time talking to you. Hope I'll be seeing you soon." He starts to lean into me, maybe going for a peck on the cheek again. He remembers himself and turns around abruptly, walking off without looking back. I quickly turn and walk in the opposite direction, even though I know this is at an angle from the way I should be walking. After a couple of blocks, I start circling back, and within thirty minutes I'm home. Somehow, in my mind, I keep hearing the words over and over - "wounded without the pleasure of a scar."

* * *

**A/N: Have you ever met someone you couldn't seem to make up your mind about? Then you know how Bella's feeling right now … Thanks to everyone who reviewed and let me know their thoughts on the story last week – I always appreciate hearing from you! I don't have time to look for new fics right now, :-) ****but if you want to rec me any, I'm curious to know what you're reading that you think is good!**


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: Disclaimer - Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. Sorry this is a bit late; Christmas preparations have delayed us, and unfortunately this chapter has not had the benefit of a beta's tender care. Please bear with me anyway and as always: thank you for reading! (We passed the 200 review mark: that's really awesome!)**

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_If I love you_

_Your life instantly becomes_

_More fragile than my own, _

_Your body more frail_

_Each cough or minor pain_

_A symptom of some dread_

_Disease or other._

_Death is on every road_

_Or in every other car_

_Some nights my skin_

_Flutters in apprehension_

_And I am so threatened that_

_Caring translates itself_

_Inside my head to_

_Stone cold anger._

_Because I am unsufficient_

_Tormented by the frailty_

_Of you whom I love._

_Selfish I_

_Find you_

_Necessary for my own definition_

_Your life is a single thread_

_It snaps_

_I wither._

Catherine Lucy Czerkawska: Thread.

**Chapter 31**

**BPOV**

Before five o'clock comes around, I've changed my clothes three times. I finally decide to keep the green t-shirt because I like the color, adding my khaki skirt, silver ear rings and flat black sandals that make my feet look narrow and pretty. I've made sure that the nail polish on my toenails is unchipped. I decide on bringing a black hoodie for safe measure, in case I feel cold. Casual but neat is what I'm going for. I don't want to look either overdressed or underdressed, and definitely not like mutton dressed as lamb.

This will be the hardest thing about coming out as a couple: the age difference. I don't know what I'll do if people sneer at me for apparently believing a beautiful young thing like Edward could possibly want me for myself. Wince, take it and try to smile apologetically, I guess. What else can I do, when deep down I think they're right? I sigh to myself. Yes, I'm probably delusional hoping this will work for more than a couple of months at the outside.

I pack the food and drink in an ice box in the trunk of the car, making sure the ice cream is properly insulated, then drive along the shore, cruising through the weekend traffic. When I get to the café, it's difficult to find a place to park. The beach is crowded since it's a beautiful Saturday afternoon, and driving by the café I can see that the patio outside is filled with people. Finally, I find a spot on a side street and hurry back to the café, worried that Edward might be waiting for me outside, impatient to go.

When I don't see him anywhere I decide to look inside. Carmen waves at me from behind the counter, and when I walk up to her she gestures over her shoulder to the back.

"Edward's in the changing room taking a shower. It's been crazy. You can go back there if you want to. Otherwise you might miss him if he goes out through the back door." She smiles, white teeth flashing in her dark face. "I heard you got invited over to Jim's place? That's a first. You have to tell me if he's got a harem or something; the only thing I've ever heard about his house is complaints that a group of women are trying to run his life for him."

I'm not sure if Carmen is serious or not, but I smile and thank her, walking past the bathrooms and towards the door to the hall to the office and back rooms. Just as I'm about to leave, Kate pops out from the kitchen, her face pink. She's covered in a huge white apron, with her blonde hair tucked into a white cap. "Oh, Bella. Hi! Have you seen Amy?" I shake my head no.

"No, but Carmen is serving customers. Maybe she's on a bathroom break? I'm looking for Edward – do you want me to ask him?"

Kate steps up close to me, looking around, then asks quietly. "We're busy, but since you're here; can I ask you something? Do you know if Edward's made contact with his family yet? I get that he's uncomfortable about calling his mother, but the longer he waits, the worse it's probably going to get."

I freeze. Has Edward been talking to Kate about his mother? What does she know that I don't? I decide to answer carefully, since I may be treading on thin ice.

"I think you need to ask Edward yourself. I'm not sure what I can tell you. I'm sorry Kate, but it's really his business, not mine. I don't feel comfortable talking about him behind his back."

Kate has the good sense to look a little embarrassed. "Yeah, I know, it's just that I thought he might have confided more in you, since you two see each other all the time. I don't want to push him. He seemed pretty torn up when we talked about it last time. Just, will you encourage him to contact her, and support him if he feels overwhelmed? It's his life … but I just don't want him to hurt his chances of making things right by waiting too long."

She turns around and hurries back to the kitchen, calling over her shoulder.

"If you see Amy, tell her to get her butt in here, I need her to get the food out to the tables."

Frowning, I walk the other way and just as I'm about to open the door to the staff room, Amy bursts through, almost slamming into me, her face red. She looks as if she's been crying.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't see you," she blurts out, then runs past me down the hall.

"Amy, Kate needs you in the kitchen," I cry, but she's already disappeared into the kitchen so my words are superfluous. Confused, I walk through the door. There's a small room for lunch breaks, with a microwave and fridge, a tiny sofa, a table with chairs and a couple of magazines. On the other side is the door to the changing room with the staff bathroom, the passage to the service entrance and the storage rooms. I knock before I open the door to the changing room, just in case there's someone else in there besides Edward. The room is empty, but the second I look around, the door to the bathroom opens and Edward comes out, his hair darker than usual from the shower. Water drops down on his white polo shirt. He's frowning, but immediately lights up when he sees me.

"Bella, you're here! " He drops his bag on the floor, walks over in a couple of quick strides and picks me up in a hug that almost makes my feet lose contact with the floor. He gives me a quick kiss on the lips as he sets me down, looking apologetic. "Sorry I'm late: we got a late lunch rush and I couldn't quit my shift right away. Are you parked outside?"

I shake my head. "No, I'm a block and a half away, it was crazy around here, that's why I came to find you. Are you sure you're ready to go? I almost crashed into Amy; she seemed really stressed out. Is everything okay?"

Edward's mouth turns down at the corners and he gets that brooding look that means he's thinking about something unpleasant. He shrugs. "It's nothing. We can talk about it later. Let's go now, before Kate decides to order me to stick around." He gives me a quick smile, then picks up his bag from the floor and steers me towards the exit, with his hand splayed across the small of my back. These casual touches still make me tingle all over, and I feel myself flushing, wanting to lean into him and bask in his warmth and delicious man-smell. But now is not the time.

He takes my hand as we cross the street and asks me about my day. I look at his beautiful face, the gorgeous green eyes, how he arches his perfect eyebrow at me and smiles that crooked smile, the one that makes little shivers run down my spine. It's unreal, but yet I know that he is – provisionally – mine.

"It was fine. I've made some vegetarian food and packed some drinks and ice cream, so remind me to get it in the freezer as soon as we get there." I look down at my feet to make sure I don't stumble on the cracks in the pavement. "Oh, and I met Tony for a quick cup of coffee. I think he said to tell you hello." I frown. This may not be quite accurate, but it will probably make Edward feel less excluded. I look up at him, and sure enough he's frowning again, as if the street ahead of us had insulted him personally. I squeeze his hand, willing him to look at me.

"Hey, it was no big deal, Edward. We had coffee and talked for twenty minutes. He felt bad about how he acted last time we met and wanted to make sure we were okay, that's all."

Edward's scowl is now directed at me. "How did he act last time you met, Bella? What did he do?"

I'm starting to feel slightly exasperated. "Oh, for heaven's sake, nothing happened! I was uncomfortable because it seemed like maybe he was coming on to me, but it turns out he wasn't, so now we're fine. It was just a silly miscommunication. He wants to talk to me about books and stuff. I misjudged him because he doesn't look like a guy who's that much into books." I blush. "I shouldn't be so quick to judge other people, I guess." We stop in front of the Volvo and Edward drops his bag on the sidewalk to cup my face in both of his hands, looking down at me seriously.

"Don't feel bad about being wary of guys like him, Bella. God knows I don't want you to be scared, but there's nothing wrong with being careful. If he made you feel like he was hitting on you it wasn't your fault, and you were right to tell him off. You don't have to spend time with him if you don't want to, you know that, right? You're much too nice to people sometimes." He lets his hands trail down my shoulders, giving my arms a quick squeeze before he lets go and bends down to pick up his bag.

I unlock the car so that Edward can slide his bag into the back seat, before he walks around and holds the door open for me to the driver's seat. I climb in and let him shut the door, feeling pensive as he circles the car quickly and gets in.

Once we're on our way, I sneak a peek over at Edward, who seems deep in thought. I notice that there's a faint trace of blood on his throat, and a band aid. I want to touch it, but I keep my hands on the wheel and nod at him.

"Did you cut yourself shaving?" He starts slightly and looks over at me, touching his neck automatically.

"Yeah. I was in the bathroom shaving before putting my clean shirt on and then I cut myself. I went out looking for a band aid since I didn't want to get blood on my clothes, and ran into Amy. I was half naked, so it was kind of embarrassing for both of us."

I raise my eyebrows. "Oh, so that's why she looked so flustered when I ran into her. Everyone seemed weird today. Well, maybe not Carmen. But she thinks Jim keeps a harem for some reason: is he a womanizer, do you know? I thought he was married with kids?"

Edward smiles and shakes his head, leaning back in his seat. "No, she was just kidding. Jim has a bunch of daughters, and it seems he has his hands full whenever he's home, that's all I've heard."

"Oh." I hesitate for a moment before bringing up the subject that's really on my mind. "By the way, Kate said something to me that I didn't understand. She asked me if I knew whether you had called your mother, and that I should encourage you to do that soon, and not wait. I just said she needed to talk to you about it. Do you know what she was on about?"

Edward looks over at me, horrified, and a blush rises on his face. Then he groans and hides his face in his hands, pulling furiously on his hair. Now I'm beginning to feel seriously worried.

"Edward, what's wrong? Has something happened with your family that I should know about?"

He shakes his head vigorously. "No! Not at all. Oh, Bella I'm so sorry, I should have talked to you about this before." He sits up and leans his head back on the headrest, clenching his thighs with his hands. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before turning to me. I try to keep my attention on the road, especially since I'm going to a new part of town and Saturday traffic downtown is making the pace alternately slow and rushed.

"I guess we should have had this conversation before Kate talked to you. The thing is; I lied to Kate." He swallows, looking embarrassed. "She was asking me questions about my background that I wasn't ready to answer, so I told her a story to get her off my back. It was stupid. I told her my stepfather had assaulted my mother and that I had attacked him. That I was worried he might have died since I took off in a panic, not sure what had happened."

I keep my voice carefully level when I ask. "And was any part of this story true?"

Edward sighs and shakes his head. "No. My real mother and father died when I was young, and I was adopted, but my adoptive parents have never been violent. Not towards each other and not to me. It was a family tragedy that made me pick up and leave, but it had nothing to do with me attacking my father. It's just that in my experience, when you tell people you come from a violent family they're uncomfortable and don't want to know about it, and they feel sorry enough for you not to ask any more questions. I guess I shouldn't have lied to Kate. Right then it seemed like a smart move to make her back off." He blows air out hard and clenches his hands into fists on his lap.

"So, Kate thinks you hit your stepfather and ran away, and that now your Mom is worried about you, because she doesn't know where you are? That's why Kate wants you to call her?"

Edward frowns and turns his head away from me. "Yes, and she thinks I should find out whether the police wants to talk to me."

I lick my lips, before I ask: "Edward, is it true that the police wants to talk to you?"

He's quiet for a long time, and I almost think he won't answer me. Then he whispers: "Yes, I think so."

He looks over at me, and I have to tear my eyes away from his troubled gaze.

"Do you think you can tell me about it? What happened?"

He rubs the heels of his hands in his eyes, then pulls on the hair on the back of his head, turning his face up to the ceiling of the car. He sighs, and his whole body posture looks defeated, as he sinks deeper into his seat.

"Bella, I want to tell you everything, but I can't. I've hurt people, you already know that. Some of the things I've done … I don't know all of the consequences. Maybe my family has persuaded the police to put out a warrant for me as a missing person, maybe not. Maybe they've told the police about the things I've done, and they'll want to take me in for questioning. I don't know. I just know I can't face my family, not now. I've hurt them so much, and I can't bear to hurt them more. There's nothing I can do to remedy the things I've done wrong, so there's no point in me hanging around as a painful reminder of the love they wasted on me. I just want to get away from everything and start over."

My hands on the wheel are trembling slightly, and I focus very hard on my driving. We're driving through the outskirts of town, turning round in a half circle to find Jim's neighborhood. This really isn't a good time to have this conversation.

"Edward, I don't know what to say. Are you sure we should go to this barbecue? Don't you want to go somewhere to talk? You seem upset, and to be honest, I'm feeling upset, too."

Edward shakes his head, but says, "Could you find us a place to pull over, Bella?"

I look around for an exit and finally manage to pull over on the side of the road, near a gas station where the traffic keeps flowing past us. We sit perfectly still, staring ahead. Dust blows against the windshield, and there's a faint smell of gasoline.

Edward releases his seatbelt and turns around in his seat to face me, taking my hand. I look at him and in spite of the bomb he just sprang on me, my first thought is that I want to kiss him. He looks so vulnerable, like a boy who's just been told his mother has cancer, or his girlfriend wants to break up with him. He wears the expression of someone who's just seen his worst nightmare come true, yet tries to put a brave face on it.

"Bella, I'm so sorry I haven't told you everything about myself, and I'm sorry I still can't. If you want to turn this car around and let me pack up my things and leave, I understand. I shouldn't have pulled you into my mess of a life, I know. But now I care so much about you that I'm selfish enough to want to be with you even though I know I shouldn't. So, if you want me to leave, you have to be the strong one and push me away, because I … just can't go."

I feel my eyes blur with tears, and I release my belt and stretch out my arms to him. He pulls me to him, and helps me climb awkwardly into his lap. I hug him close, pressing my face into his shoulder. His arms immediately hold me tight, pressing me into his body with everything he has. I feel him draw a shaky breath.

"Edward, you can't say things like that to me. I don't want you to leave. I want to help you, don't you see? If you'd just tell me what's wrong I could help you. We could do this together. Can't you trust me?"

He kisses the top of my head, stroking my back in soothing circles even though I can feel from his heart beating so hard in his chest beneath me that he's also upset. His voice is low:

"Oh, Bella, I don't want to leave. It's just that when I'm honest with myself I know in my heart that I shouldn't be in your life. It's not fair to maybe put you in danger or to keep you in the dark. It's just that some things … some things I feel I have to carry on my own. Can you forgive me?"

I nod, swallowing, willing myself to calm down. We can't do this here, in a car by the side of the road. Someone passing by might call the cops, thinking something is seriously wrong. And we're on our way somewhere. There are people surely expecting us by now. I tell myself that nothing has really changed in the last hour. Edward is still Edward, and I'm still me. Our feelings for one another are the same. Whatever happens, we can face it together. Edward will eventually get to a place where he feels he can trust me more, and then I will be able to _do_ something, untangle whatever it is he's struggling to get away from. I have to keep hoping.

"Okay. But, Edward, there's one thing I really need to know. As far as you know, do the police have a warrant out for your arrest? Have you committed a felony?"

He looks into my eyes, and his face is so close to mine I can feel his breath, hot on my face. How can a moment like this be fraught with equal amounts of dread and desire? Yet, that is what I feel, surrounded by his arms.

"No, Bella, I haven't committed any felony, and I don't think the police want me arrested. But I think they may be looking for me, for different reasons. That's why I'm trying to keep a low profile. I really don't want to be found. I can't go back. I just can't."

And there it is. The only way is forward, then, for both of us. I wipe my fingers under my eyes, to obliterate any make-up stains, casting a quick look in the rearview mirror to make sure I don't look like a panda. Then I carefully disentangle myself from Edward's lap and gracelessly climb back into the driver's seat. I sit for a moment, my hands on the wheel, breathing deep and doing my mental calming exercises. Edward squeezes my knee.

"Are you sure you want to drive? I can take over if you want?" His voice is low, and when I look over at him, his gaze is fixed on me, his face pale and drawn. It looks as if he's had a long, exhausting day. I shake my head and attempt to smile.

"No, it's fine. I just have to focus for a minute. We should get going. Are _you_ okay? Have you changed your mind about going to Jim's?" I realize we're probably not at our best, either of us.

He shakes his head, still watching my face intently. "No, it's fine. I want to go, if you still want to come?"

I fasten my seatbelt, release the handbrake, and ease the car out of park, looking out at the road for a break in the traffic.

"Let's go, then."

**A/N: Confusing, isn't it? Should Bella just smack Edward on the back of his head and tell him to grow up? I know I would have … (just kidding). I cut this chapter short to make things easier on my beta, but next week there will be a bit more action. Hope you'll have a happy Christmas holiday, all of you – and lots of time to read FF! **

**(If you're looking for something different, I've stumbled across "Roar like a lion" and "Bringing Bella home" by counselor. Her writing is like nothing else I've seen, but once you get used to it she's absolutely mesmerizing! Be prepared for a ride back in time, to a dirtier, rougher America.)**


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N: Disclaimer - Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. A big thank you to my experienced beta,Trekgeezer, for helping me mind my p's and q's! All remaining flaws are mine and mine alone …**

* * *

_When forty winters shall besiege thy brow_

_And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,_

_Thy youth's proud livery, so gazed on now,_

_Will be a tatter'd weed, of small worth held:_

_Then being ask'd where all thy beauty lies,_

_Where all the treasure of thy lusty days,_

_To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes,_

_Were an ill-eating shame and thriftless praise,_

_How much more praise deserved thy beauty's use,_

_If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine_

_Shall sum my count and make my old excuse,'_

_Proving his beauty by succession thine!_

_This were to be new made when thou art old,_

_And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold._

W. Shakespeare: Sonnet no 2.

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**Chapter 32.**

**BPOV**

When we find the right address, it's almost six o'clock. Jim's house is Spanish-style brick with a red tile roof. The front garden consists mostly of shrubs with a wilting lawn, strewn with a variety of toys and a kid's bicycle. When we ring the bell we hear voices coming from inside the house, and then the front door is pulled open abruptly by a young teenage girl wearing cut-offs and an oversized t-shirt. Her long, dirty-blonde hair is pulled into a messy ponytail and she's wearing makeup the way a very young girl does; too much of it, haphazardly applied. She beams at us.

"Hey, you must be Edward and his friend! I'm Ashley. Come on in. You can walk straight through the house. Everyone is out back. Dad's cooking." She ushers us in and closes the door. I ask where the kitchen is so I can put things in the fridge. She directs me to the end of the hall, and Edward follows behind me carrying the cooler.

The kitchen is big, but feels cramped because it's filled with furniture and has every surface covered with food or dishes. A woman is putting glasses on a brightly painted tray, and turns around when we enter.

"Ashley, why didn't you tell me we had guests arriving? Oh, I'm so pleased to meet you! Excuse the mess; either Jim or I have been in here all day, pulling out more and more things as we go. I'm Lorraine, by the way, Jim's wife. I don't think we've ever met?"

Lorraine shakes my hand, then Edward's, and I see a faint trace in her eyes of that first reaction Edward always seems to get, the "hello there!"-look. He smiles at her, his best polite smile, and he's got her attention right away.

"Hello, I'm Edward and this is Bella. I work with Jim at the café, and Bella often comes there. I'm pleased to meet you, too." He looks around. "You have a charming house. Now, we've brought some drinks that maybe need to go in the fridge, and some ice cream that I think is dying for the freezer." He gestures to the cooler on the floor.

Lorraine, who must be around my age, has her hair dyed a dark red. The color is harsh and leaves the white skin visible in the parting on her head looking somehow vulnerable. She seems striking enough for a mother with a teenage daughter. She's wearing a pair of white shorts and a multi-colored blouse that hangs off one shoulder, an ensemble that sets off her tan and her nails, which are painted a noticeable hot pink. Her hands flutter a little, as if she subconsciously wants to adjust her dress or add lipstick, now that Edward is here. I know the feeling.

"Oh, that's great! Ashley, why don't you take care of the things in the cooler, please? I'll show Edward and Bella out back where the others are." She picks up her tray, smiles brightly, and walks ahead of us out the door. Ashley shrugs, shoots a grin Edward's way, and ducks down to take care of the cooler.

The house isn't tiny, but like the kitchen it seems filled to bursting with evidence of the people living there; magazines, clothes and toys dropped here and there. It's clean but messy. When we walk out the French doors onto a small porch, we see the back garden, where ten or so people are milling about. Watching over the barbecue is Jim. He's wearing a big red apron and has a beer in his hand. Beyond him, two couples are sitting on lawn chairs, watching him and talking. On the grass, five kids of varying ages are occupied playing games. A table is laid with paper plates and brightly colored paper napkins, and a stack of plastic chairs stand nearby.

"Hey, everybody, this is Edward and Bella!" Lorraine puts the glasses down and turns around with her hands on her hips to make introductions. She points to the people in the lawn chairs. "That's Steve and Lena, Terry and Alex." They raise their hands and smile. Steve and Lena look like a couple in their thirties, both are fair with the kind of complexion that doesn't tan easily. Steve looks to be big and Lena small, but it's hard to tell with them sitting. Terry and Alex are probably older. Alex is wiry and dark with graying hair, and Terry has dark, dyed-looking black hair and a very bright smile, enhanced by red lipstick.

Lorraine points to the kids, who hardly look up. They're probably used to grown-ups talking about them over their heads. "The smallest one is Summer; she's my youngest. Then there's Hayley, she's eight, Casey is six, and then there's Rick and Mike. They belong to Steve and Lena."

I notice that the boys are off in their own corner, playing with a football, while the older girls are keeping Summer occupied, pulling a yapping toy dog across the lawn.

Edward walks over to Jim and slaps his back lightly, commenting on the food. Jim looks over at me and smiles before turning back to Edward. I gather my courage and walk over to shake hands and say hello to everybody. Lorraine starts distributing glasses and asks everyone what they're drinking. After exchanging a few words with the other guests - "Do you live nearby?" "How long are you staying?" "Lovely boys!" - I get my Diet Coke and drift off towards the girls, who have ended up in a sandbox in the far corner of the yard. Hayley looks up at me, then over at the table.

"Do you think I could get a soda, too?" she asks me. I hesitate and look over at Lorraine, who's chatting amiably with the others. "I don't know, but I'm sure your mother will give you something to drink if you ask her," I reply. Hayley grabs my knee and gives me a shy smile.

"Could you watch Summer while I go ask Mom?" she asks. I nod, mute, surprised at her confidence with a complete stranger. Hayley takes Casey by the hand and they run across the yard to Lorraine. I sit down at the side of the sand box, carefully putting my can of Coke down on the ground. Summer is wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt, a sun hat and shorts. Her light-brown locks are peeking out from under her hat. Her legs and hands are grubby and full of sand. She looks up at me with big, brown eyes, and gives me a tentative smile. Looking around for something to amuse her with I pick up a plastic shovel and bucket. I talk quietly to her, showing her how to build a sand castle. Summer speaks a garbled English, and I have a hard time understanding what she says. There's a lot of giggling going on while she pokes my creations as fast as I can make them, pounding them into the ground.

When Hayley and Casey return, each balancing their can of Sprite and Orangeade, while sipping through straws, Summer is envious. She stands up and tries to grab their drinks. When she fails, she starts wailing. I quickly brush her off and pick her up, cooing to her as I carry her over to Lorraine. "I think someone wants a drink," I tell her. Lorraine takes Summer into the house to wash up before she gets her juice. Edward has been making conversation with Alex and Terry, but gets up and gently propels me over to Jim, who is finishing up at the grill.

"I don't know if you've been properly introduced to Jim," he says. Jim wipes his hand on his apron before extending it to me. He has dark brown eyes that twinkle when he smiles. He reminds me of my Dad, somehow.

"Pleased to meet you, Bella. Seen you around, but I don't think we've said hello. I made you some veggie sausages, hope that's okay?" I look over at Edward, surprised.

"Did Edward tell you I don't eat meat?" Edward shakes his head as Jim replies.

"Didn't need to. I remembered him asking me about a good place for vegetarian food nearby. Figured it was you he was taking. Was it any good, by the way?" He looks at me, genuinely curious of my opinion. I smile and nod.

"Yes, I loved their palak panir, and they made really good naan bread, too. Actually, I've brought some Indian samosas that I made, in case you want to try them. They're probably in the kitchen with the rest of the stuff we brought." Jim points over at the table.

"Lorraine brought them out here. I snagged one; they were good. Edward thinks so, too." Jim looks over at Edward who grins and nods.

"Yeah, Bella is an awesome cook. I wish I could persuade her to cook more for me." I nudge him reproachfully with my hip.

"Hey, I would cook for you if you asked me to. You just beat me to it most of the time." I look at Jim and smile. "I guess you must be a great role model, since Edward is so eager to take over in the kitchen once he's home from work. Do you two get along in the kitchen?" Jim shakes his head.

"No way. My kitchen is mine. Edward is just the help, and he better do what I tell him." Jim scowls mock-threateningly at Edward, who holds up his hands and backs away a couple of steps. "Sorry, boss! You know I would never go against your wishes. I'm yours to command." Jim makes a dismissive gesture, muttering "Whatever." Edward walks off in the direction of the laden table, winking at me, obviously looking to wolf down another samosa.

Jim looks over at me as he unties his apron and covers the grill. "So, everything okay with you two?" he asks, and the question throws me because I didn't expect him of all people to ask me anything personal. I look at him with what I expect is my deer-in-headlights expression and chew on my lip. He smiles at me again and his eyes twinkle. "Don't worry. Edward and I haven't had a heart-to-heart, and he's not the type to kiss and tell. It's just the way he looks at you. It's obvious he's crazy about you. I just wondered if it's mutual?" I hesitate, then nod.

"Yeah, I'm kind of crazy about him, too," I mumble. Jim raises his eyebrows, but his only comment is: "Good. Let's eat, shall we?"

Dinner is quite a different experience from what I'm used to with just Edward and me at home. People talk over one another, children jump up and squeal, food is passed back and forth, and Lorraine keeps getting up and running back into the house to get things from the kitchen. I eat some sausage, salad and a samosa, just to see if I did them right. To me they taste delicious, probably because I don't eat them that often anymore. Alex refills my glass with ice tea and talks to me about his work; he sells cars, and is trying to push hybrids, which isn't always easy. I tell him why I like my Volvo, and he tries to convince me to come over and look at some of the latest environmentally friendly cars to see what I may be missing.

After dinner, I help Lorraine clear the table while Jim passes around coffee and a bottle of Maker's Mark for those who may be interested. Edward plays with the girls, giving piggyback rides, pretending to be a lion and chasing them around the lawn. Then he enlists Ashley's help in organizing a game of hide-and-seek. The boys decide to join in, and the game blows them inside the house and out again, giggling and squealing. Edward's face is alight and he seems to be genuinely enjoying himself, quite unlike the way I'd expect a young twenty-something guy to act when faced with a bunch of kids. Hayley and Casey stare at him with googly eyes; they clearly have a bad case of hero-worship. Ashley acts alternately shy and giggly, her colt-like teenage body flailing in all directions whenever Edward heads after her.

When I sit down in one of the lawn chairs, Summer wriggles out of Jim's lap and comes over to me. With a shy smile she raises her arms in the universal gesture of "lift me up." I lift her onto my lap and she settles against me, her small warm body no heavier than a handbag. She curls up and puts her thumb in her mouth. I carefully clasp her with my arms and bury my face in her hair, inhaling that wonderful smell of child mixed with sunlight and dust. I feel a twist of longing in my gut, and a brief sting of tears behind my eyes, but I swallow it down. Her trust in strangers is lovely, but a little daunting.

After a while, the children clamor for permission to go to the park, but Lorraine sternly points out that it's much too late, almost bedtime. This makes them whine and groan in exaggerated protest. To my surprise, Edward offers to read them bedtime stories in the house. While the boys opt to watch cartoons on the television in the living room, instead, the girls settle around Edward in a corner of the room where they've created a pile of cushions. They all argue about what book to read, their voices drift out onto the lawn. After a while all that can be heard is Edward's voice, rising and falling as he imitates the different characters, and the background noise from the TV.

Summer has fallen asleep on my lap, and Lorraine gestures at me to hand her baby over so she can carry her into the house and put her to bed. I mouth "It's okay" and stand up gingerly to carry her myself. Lorraine leads the way, and I follow her into the house, past the kids in the living room. Edward looks up briefly and gives me a quick smile before returning to his book. Casey has crawled onto his lap and can barely keep her eyes open. Hayley is leaning on his shoulder, engrossed in the pictures in the book he's holding. Ashley sits slightly apart, looking more at Edward's face than the book he's reading. Rick and Mike are sprawled on the sofa watching "The Incredibles." They are probably too proud to admit it, but I can see their small bodies beginning to wilt with the weight of the day.

Summer shares a room with one of her sisters. It's like the rest of the house; messy but comfortable, a girly dream in pink and white. You can see that at some point the girls put their artistic ambitions to work on the wallpaper, and their parents gave up and let them express themselves with multicolored crayons. Flowers, animals and cars coexist with what looks like a dragon, and maybe wizards out of Harry Potter. I put Summer down on what I guess is Casey's bed while Lorraine gets a washcloth from the bathroom. She wipes off the worst of the traces of dinner and play from Summer's face and hands before she eases her out of her rumpled clothes and into clean diapers and pajamas. Summer whimpers a little, but doesn't wake, and I sit on the other bed for a minute while Lorraine crouches down by Summer's side. She's making sure she is tucked in, and that the side of the bed is raised so that the child can't fall out.

When she's satisfied Summer is asleep, she sets the baby monitor by the bed, and gestures to the hallway. I follow her down the stairs, when she looks up at me in the dim light.

"You're good with kids, Bella, and so is Edward. Do you have any kids of your own?" For a minute I'm not sure if she's asking me if Edward and I have any kids, but then I realize she must be asking me.

"No," I say. "I was married until about six months ago, but we didn't have kids. It just didn't happen that way."

Lorraine shrugs. "I know, right? People talk about kids like it's something you can buy at the store; 'we have kids,' or 'I'm going to have three kids,' when the reality is, kids have you. Or not, as it may be. Kids are one of the areas in life where you have the least control. That's what I feel, anyway."

Instead of walking back outside, she turns into the kitchen, and I follow her, thinking she might need some more help in there.

Lorraine gets out the bottle of Chardonnay from the fridge and a couple of wine glasses and winks at me.

"The kids are way too tired for ice cream now, so we're just going to save that for tomorrow. But I think you and I deserve a drink before I sort this mess out." She gestures to the stacks of dirty glasses, bowls, bottles and cutlery, and the open garbage bag with paper plates and trash. She clears a corner of the table and pours two glasses of wine. I follow her lead and settle into one of the kitchen chairs, wondering briefly if the children in the living room are all asleep by now.

"Have you lived in this house for a long time?" I ask, partly making conversation, and partly curious to see if the home's comfortable and lived-in feel is something that took years to acquire.

Lorraine nods thoughtfully. "Well, we've been here for five years now, so that is a pretty long time. Before that we lived farther south, closer to the Mexican border, but I wanted to find a place with better options for the girls schooling, so then we ended up here."

"How did you meet?" I ask, sipping my wine. It seems that Lorraine doesn't mind talking about her family, and that is a sure way to keep her questions away from me.

Lorraine smiles, a faraway look in her brown eyes. "Oh, Jim and I met when I was a single mother with Ashley, trying to make ends meet, holding up one job waitressing in the mornings and another job cleaning in the afternoons. He seemed like a dream come true; a guy who can cook and likes kids." She chuckles. "And he was madly in love with me, too, which helped."

"So, you were married before?" I ask hesitantly, not knowing whether this is a delicate subject.

Lorraine nods and looks at me over the rim of her glass. "Yeah, it was my mistake. I married young, and it turned out to be a disaster. You know the way people tell you their marriage is on the rocks so they decide to have kids to save the marriage? Well, it doesn't work. After three years I was pregnant and fed up and hoped that having a kid would turn things around. Instead he turned out to be not only a lousy husband but a crappy dad, so I divorced him. He didn't argue."

"That was Ashley's dad?" I ask. "Are you still in touch with him?"

Lorraine makes a face and tops up her glass. I shake my head when she offers me more wine.

"Well, he did pay me alimony in the beginning, when I needed it badly, and he still checks in once a year around Ashley's birthday to send money and wish her a happy birthday, but she hasn't spent time with him since she was six. He moves around a lot. As far as I know, most of the time these days he drives a truck back and forth to Canada. I can't say I miss him. If Ashley wants to find out more about him one day, though, she will know where to find him. For all intents and purposes, Jim is her dad, and I don't think she feels she's any different from the rest of her sisters that way."

Suddenly she trains her gaze on me. "So, are you and Edward dating? He seems a bit younger than you."

I steel myself. I knew this was coming.

"Yes, we met here and became friends when he needed a place to stay. It's just recently we started dating." Lorraine looks at me speculatively, but she doesn't seem cruel, only curious.

"How old is he, if you don't mind me asking?" she says. It occurs to me that I've never asked Edward his age. 21? 22? Or maybe 23, I honestly have no idea. I only know he dropped out of college and was probably close to graduation.

"You'd have to ask him that. I haven't. And, before you ask, I'm forty, and I know it's very unusual for someone my age to date someone Edward's age. Frankly, I'm as surprised as you probably are." Better to take the bull by the horns. I stare at her, and try to look confident, not defiant.

Lorraine smiles at me, and raises her glass. "Oh, I'm not judging you, Bella. It's your life. I was just wondering what a woman would have to do to catch a young man's attention these days – I'm so out of the loop myself." Then she lifts her head and looks over my shoulders with widening eyes. I turn in my chair and there is Edward with a sleeping Casey draped over his shoulder like a sack of beans. He walks forward, briefly putting one hand on my shoulder in a reassuring gesture. The firm squeeze of his warm hand is just what I need.

"All Bella ever had to do was be herself, and then it's impossible not to fall for her." The way he smiles at me is making my insides feel liquid, even as his words make a lump form in the back of my throat. He looks over at Lorraine. "And I think this little lady needs her bed. Ashley said she was too sleepy to carry Casey upstairs, so I thought maybe you could help me?"

Lorraine gets up and gestures to Edward to follow her upstairs, while I remain below, and start unloading the dishwasher. Soon, Edward is back. He briefly folds me in a hug against the kitchen counter, pecking at my lips before saying: "I'm going to help Jim get the other two girls upstairs to their rooms. I'll be back in a jiffy." He leaves and I resume my sorting of glasses and plates.

While I work, I listen to the sounds of footsteps and muffled voices as Jim stomps upstairs carrying Hayley. Ashley's reluctantly trailing behind, complaining that she's not really tired, shooed on by Edward with laughter in his voice. Then Terry and Lena follow Edward into the kitchen carrying the coffee cups, giggling and a little tipsy. We all help clean up the kitchen, as far as that's possible in a home where you don't know where everything goes.

When Jim and Lorraine return after putting all their girls to bed, we stand around for a bit in the hallway chatting, before saying our goodnights and thanking our hosts for a lovely barbecue. As we're about to leave, Ashley hangs her head over the railing, crying out "Bye Bella. Bye Edward. Please come see us again." I nudge Edward as we walk out the door and I catch him grinning.

"You're such a flirt," I whisper. "Now those poor girls are going to argue for days about who gets first dibs on you."

"Oh, that would be Summer, no doubt about it." Edward deadpans. "I'm _so _jealous she picked you over me." I nudge him with my elbow again, harder this time.

"Shut up. You _know_ you're a flirt." I grumble.

"And you know you love it," he whispers in my ear, before catching me and pressing me up against the side of the Volvo, kissing me until my head spins. His warm mouth on mine is gentle but insistent and tastes sweet like wine. His silky tongue makes electric sparks fly straight to my center. In this moment, all I can think about is his solid man's body pressing me against the cool steel side of the car, his leg nudging between my thighs so that I have to shut down my instinct to hump him like a dog in heat. I whimper, our ragged breathing loud in my ears.

Then he steps back and releases me, only to fold his arms around my waist, gently hugging me to him. He tucks my head under his chin, sighing into my hair. I breathe against his shirt. I don't know if I'm feeling high on Edward or the wine.

"Hey," he says softly, "did you have a good time tonight?"

I nod into his chest. "Yes, actually, I did. I loved the girls, and Jim and Lorraine seem really nice." I look up at him. "And if I ever want to trade in the Volvo, I know Alex is my man." Edward's silent laughter rocks my body.

"Apart from the obvious fact that you got yourself a new fan club, did _you_ have a good time tonight?" I ask, relaxing in his arms.

Edward's voice is thoughtful. "Yes. I enjoyed it more than I thought I would. Especially playing with the kids – they're so much fun to be around. Kids always say what they mean, and you always know where you stand with them. I didn't enjoy _being_ a kid so much, but now that I'm older I sometimes enjoy their company more than the company of adults."

I want to tell him that I think he'd make a wonderful father, but considering that we're in a relationship, that might come out sounding awkward.

"I think you'd make a wonderful big brother," I say instead, "and I wish I could have had you around when I was a girl their age. That would have made me feel safe and cherished, just like you make me feel now." His heart rate picks up, and I can feel his shoulders stiffening for a moment, before he relaxes again. He doesn't reply, only hums something inaudible. Maybe I made him think of his family again.

"Watch out," I mumble, soothed by the vibrations of his voice and feeling tired now, "if you show too much enthusiasm about kids, people might start thinking you're a pedophile. It's not normal for a young guy like you to play with kids when there's bourbon and a manly conversation about baseball stats available." Edward only chuckles, and kisses the top of my head before asking for the car keys so he can unlock the car and open the door for me.

As we drive through the quiet neighborhood, music playing softly on the ipod, I roll the window down slightly to feel the warm wind and smell the fragrance of freshly-mowed lawns and gardens with newly watered plants. I think of the home we just left behind, and compare it to the one I shared with James. He liked his surroundings immaculate, and made sure we had staff on hand to keep it perfect when I didn't have the time and the inclination to do it. I realize that it never felt like "home" to me, not like my room upstairs in Charlie's house, where I spent the last three years of my girlhood. Actually, my small office at work felt more like home than our house. That's where I kept many of my books, some prints and photographs that never fit in with our designer furniture. I also had an old rug and an armchair there that I found in a second-hand shop and loved because of their color and comfort. All of that is in storage now. I sigh.

"I just remembered, I should check on the stuff I left in storage when we go to San Francisco. There may be some books and journals I need to find," I tell Edward as we pull out onto the highway. I hit the button to raise the window again. I would like to visit Charlie, too, now that I'm feeling better, but that will have to wait until some other time, maybe later this summer. I've avoided both Renee and Charlie since the divorce.

Renee was sympathetic to me on the phone, telling me all men were assholes. We have kept in touch on and off all through spring. Her love for me has always been mixed with distraction, though, and she learned long ago to regard me as self-sufficient. She is warm whenever we talk, but I get the feeling she forgets about me soon after we say goodbye. Renee came to my graduation and my wedding, and I visited her once a year, a little more seldom after I married James. She's always been a small force of nature, a whirlwind of yellow light and dust that smelled like patchouli. Renee doesn't need me.

Charlie is different. If Renee is movement, then Charlie is stillness. He's a constant presence like a dark blue fir tree rooted in the same spot, his gaze following me. He's always been awkward around me, reticent, watchful. And he's always wanted what's best for me, but most of the time he doesn't have the faintest idea what that might be. He didn't like James, but then he never liked the idea of any boy getting his paws on me; no one was ever good enough. I couldn't bring myself to tell him all of the details of the divorce, partly because I felt humiliated, and partly because I didn't want him to get angry and threaten James – or worse, give himself a heart attack.

We talk on the phone, too, but our conversations are painful, at least to me. There's so much I can't tell him, and so many things he can't bring himself to ask me. That's the way it always was: I protect him because I know he wants to protect me. While I listen to his faint breathing on the other side of the line, my love for him is like a physical ache in my chest, as if I'm choking on all the words that can't come out. I end my calls mumbling "I love you. Be safe," and he clears his throat and mutters "You, too, kid," even though I'm not a kid anymore. Maybe I never was.

I bite my lip, considering the idea that a day might come when I'll have to introduce them both to Edward. Whatever would they say? Renee might smile and roll her eyes and want to know all about how we met, but Charlie would probably stare at me, incredulous, "_are you serious_?" written all over his face. Hooking up with someone half my age would seem to Charlie like a sign of a lack of self-preservation and dignity.

When we pull up in front of the house, I feel drained of energy, and I gratefully let Edward carry the cooler into the kitchen for me. While I kick off my shoes and drink a glass of water I pull my hair out of the clip and shake it out across my shoulders. Within minutes, I feel his arms slide around me, and his warm body pressed against my back. "Let's go to bed. I've wanted to get you out of these clothes for hours," he mumbles as he gathers my hair in his hand and kisses my exposed neck. I sigh and relax against him with a smile.

No matter what tomorrow may bring, I am sure of one thing; life with Edward is healing something deep within me, something I maybe knew was broken but didn't know could be fixed. I only hope it won't rip open again, like when a bandage is carelessly removed too soon. As I turn to him, my fingers slide across his neck, and find the small band-aid where he cut himself shaving. I carefully peel it off, then kiss the place where a small dot of dried blood remains. When Edward bends down and catches my lips with his, I quickly forget everything except his soft, insistent mouth and the hungry demands his fingers make on my skin. My mind chants to me "_Forget it, forget it…" _Let tomorrow carry its own burdens. Tonight belongs to us.

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**A/N: So do you think that Edward would make a good dad? Or would he do better as a big brother? What are your views on marrying young – any pros and cons come to mind? Did your Mom warn you not to get too serious, too soon or quite the opposite? I hope you're having a good Christmas vacation while reading this, and that you look forward to New Year's Eve! I know I do! Thank you for your comments: they always make me think … **


	33. Chapter 33

**A/N: Disclaimer - Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. Thank you to everyone who favorited this story and a huge thank you to my wonderful beta, Trekgeezer who has squeezed her proofing of this chapter in, never mind being busy with other things! All remaining errant commas are still my fault!**

* * *

_And I'd give up forever to touch you_

_'Cause I know that you feel me somehow_

_You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be_

_And I don't want to go home right now_

_And all I can taste is this moment_

_And all I can breathe is your life_

_And sooner or later it's over_

_I just don't wanna miss you tonight_

_And I don't want the world to see me_

_'Cause I don't think that they'd understand_

_When everything's meant to be broken _

_I just want you to know who I am_

_I just want you to know who I am_

Goo Goo Dolls: Iris

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**Chapter 33.**

**EPOV**

It's Monday afternoon when the fact that I've been working eight days straight finally begins to catch up with me. I'm suddenly bone weary and I must try my hardest just to keep the smile on my face when I talk to customers. I'm resisting the urge to snap at Amy when she asks me for the umpteenth time where to find something in the storage room. Amy - that was going so well, and now, not so much. Kate has noticed the change in me, too. Jim just gave me a strange look when he realized I've completely stopped my bantering with Amy and have been keeping my interactions with her to a minimum. Amy herself tries to pretend that nothing has changed, but her demeanor seems a bit forced.

Last Saturday I was stepping out of the employee bathroom when I ran into her in the changing room. It could have been nothing but a brief, awkward moment, and something to laugh about later, but she did something that completely threw me for a loop. She came on to me, big time. I was half naked and had started to apologize as I went over to the first-aid kit on the wall to get my band-aid. I had a small trickle of blood coming down my neck that I was trying to staunch with toilet paper. When I turned around, she was _right_ _there,_ so close that I couldn't move without pushing her. Then she leaned into me, letting her hands trail up over my bare shoulders and into my hair. She licked her lips, and her pretty blue eyes held a sort of glazed expression as she pressed up against me. I froze.

"Edward, I really, really like you. It's been so much fun to hang out with you at work, and I think you're a really hot guy. I know you said you weren't interested in hooking up with anyone, but we're so _good_ together. I'd really like to get to know you better, you know?" Then she started kissing her way up my jawline. I was stunned, but not too stunned to react. I quickly pulled her hands down and pushed her away from me none too gently, uncomfortably aware now of how her gaze travelled down my naked chest and back up to my eyes.

"What the fuck, Amy!" I sputtered out, angry and embarrassed. "What makes you think it's okay to start touching and kissing me like this at work? Have I said anything to make you think I'd welcome that kind of attention? Keep your hands to yourself, and stay the hell away from me. I liked you, too, but definitely not like that." I looked at her with something close to disgust. "Now I'm starting to wonder who you _really _are." I pushed my way past her and slammed the door to the bathroom behind me, breathing hard.

As I cleaned the cut and put the band-aid on, my hands were trembling slightly. I just couldn't believe that Amy - nice, gentle Amy - would behave like such a slut. Or maybe I was the slut? Had I seriously done anything to make her believe a move like that would fly with me? I stared at myself in the mirror, remembering all the times in the past when girls threw themselves at me, and I just smiled and took advantage. My mouth twisted, and I turned away from the mirror to pull my clean white shirt over my head, the one I didn't want to get blood on. When I walked out of the bathroom and faced Bella, I felt relieved and guilty. I didn't want to pile any more of my shit on her plate, so I decided to just let the whole episode slide. No foul, no harm. Just seeing Bella made me feel better, anyway.

I empty the dishwasher and begin to reload it with dirty plates. I think to myself that I hope I won't ever have to introduce Bella to people from my past. I would die if someone who knew me before were to tell her the complete truth about the exploits of slutty Edward, bratty Edward, fucking violent, selfish, smug and self-destructive Edward. Maybe Amy coming on to me was a sign that the old Edward is showing through the cracks. Does it only take someone who isn't selfless and caring like Bella to sniff him out? I shudder briefly. What if everyone but Bella can see right through me?

Jim hasn't talked to me about Saturday, except to say that his family told him to tell me hello. If _he _could tell what a bad person I am, surely he wouldn't have let me play with his kids or have invited me over to meet his family in the first place, right? I shake my head. I must be getting paranoid.

Seeing Bella interact with the people at the barbecue made my heart swell with pride. She's always so _nice_ to everyone, so gentle and unobtrusive, always lending a hand without being asked. I saw her watching people, smiling at their jokes, actually listening to what they said, even when they must have been boring her to death. She even listened to that Alex-guy who went on and on about his job, as if it were neurosurgery.

She was even better with the kids, answering them so seriously whatever they asked, treating them like adults, commending them for things they did right, rather than chiding them when they did something wrong. In some ways, she reminded me of Esme, the way Esme always was with Alice, but without the worry and the pain.

And yet, Alice would scream and try to hurt Esme just as much as anyone else, in spite of Esme's endless patience, or maybe because of it. When I got big enough to stand in Alice's way without fear of being torn to shreds myself, sometimes I stepped in between her and Esme. Part of it was because I hated to see Esme so hurt and bewildered, and part of it was because I knew Alice tried harder with me. She _tried_ to rein herself in because deep down Alice didn't want to hurt me. Deep down she knew we were on the same side; two fucked-up kids, craving … no, dying for more love than there could ever be in the world for people like us. We just went about filling that black void inside of us in different ways.

I kept my distance more from Ashley because, in some ways, she reminded me of Alice. Physically, they were worlds apart; Ashley is blonde tall and gangly, whereas Alice was dark, petite and graceful. There was something in the way Ashley looked at me, with a shy sort of hero-worship, that wrenched at my heart. "Don't," I wanted to tell her. "Don't look at me like that. I'm not worth it."

It was easier with the younger girls, giggly and silly and easily distracted with a game or a story. They took me at face value as a nice grown-up whose attention they could command for an evening, a sort of glorified babysitter. I could relax around them. They reminded me of the good parts of my childhood. I was the only boy in pre-school the girls let in their games because I wasn't loud or rowdy and because I didn't laugh at them or question their choices. In return they didn't laugh at me or try to shove me and fight with me, like the boys did. I was safe with them. Esme told me all the boys were only jealous because the girls liked me, but I knew she was wrong. The boys disliked me because I was weak, and the girls tolerated me for the same reason, but none of them really liked me. I didn't fit in anywhere, at school or at home.

The heat and humidity from the dishwasher is making my hair floppier than ever. I impatiently push it away from my forehead while I stack the clean plates. After work, I'm supposed to go over to Ink it Black and practice on the piano. I still haven't decided whether I want to go or not. When it's my break time, I walk out the back door to catch the breeze and feel the sun on my skin. Jim is having a quick smoke. We're nearing the afternoon rush hour for people leaving work and those with leisure time leaving the beach, their stomachs rumbling.

"Everything okay with you and Amy?" he asks, his shrewd eyes intent on my face. I blush, in spite of myself.

"No, not really. She … well, she made a pass at me and I turned her down. It feels awkward."

Jim raises his eyebrows at me. "She didn't know you're with Bella?" I shrug before I reply, just as laconically.

"It doesn't matter. She still shouldn't have done it like that."

Jim doesn't ask what I mean by that. He just takes a final drag on the cigarette, before extinguishing the butt in the can of sand close to the wall.

"Okay. Just keep the drama out of my kitchen and tell Bella I said 'hi'. She seems like a great lady." He disappears back inside and I take out my cell phone, deciding to text Bella.

_Hey. I miss you. Did you want to hear me play the piano?_

It's only 30 seconds before her reply pings on my phone.

_YES! When can I? Miss you, too._

She's so adorable. I smile and text her back.

_Meet me around 7 outside Ink it Black? Maryanne will open the bar._

There's a pause, then a new ping.

_Okay. Meet you there!_

I pocket my phone, smiling, and make my way inside. As I relieve Charlotte behind the counter so she can have her break, Amy walks by with a tray full of dirty dishes and gives me a mournful look. I give her a tight smile back. We will be closing together tonight, and I don't want to be rude to her. I just want her to leave me alone. Women. I don't understand them.

By the time we've stacked all the chairs, locked down the outdoor furniture with chains, made sure the kitchen is clean and the garbage is all taken outside, it's seven o'clock and I'm itching to go. As I lock up in the back, Amy stands around, kicking at the ground with her sneaker. She's dressed in dark blue jeans and a white t-shirt, looking very "all-American-girl" with her fair hair blowing around her face and her canvas bag slung across her body.

"Edward, I just want to say again that I'm sorry. I'm really embarrassed I did that, and it won't happen again, all right?" She looks up at me, and that is definitely a pair of puppy-dog eyes, if ever I saw them.

"No, you're damned right it won't happen again. And stop apologizing, there's no point. Just forget it ever happened, that's what I'm trying to do, okay?" I snap at her, my long day getting to me. I pull in a long breath when I see her cheeks flushing as she starts to turn away from me.

"Hey!" I call out, before she walks away. She stops and gives me a wary look. I drag both my hands through my hair before settling my fists on my hips, trying not to glare at her. My back aches and my legs feel stiff from walking and standing around most of the day.

"Look, I don't mean to be rude to you all the time. I'm just really disappointed by what you did. I mean it when I say I would prefer to forget about it. Could you just promise not to think about me that way? Then maybe we could get along as colleagues? Otherwise, this will be one damned long summer." I give her a tired smirk, and have the dubious pleasure of seeing her face light up. She nods at me.

"Sure, Edward, whatever you say." She smirks right back at me, and this is the sassy Amy I remember. She's different from the moping, shy one who's been shuffling around me for two days. "Even if I can't promise to keep my thoughts pure, I promise to keep them to myself."

I roll my eyes, and point threateningly at her.

"Don't joke about it, Amy. One inappropriate comment out of your mouth, or one attempt to feel me up, and I promise you I'll have you out on your ass in no time." Then I pinch my eyes shut and sigh. "I can't believe I have to defend my virtue against a college girl." When I look up at Amy, her face is serious again.

"I'm sorry, okay. I mean it. And I want to be your friend." She holds out her hand to shake. After a brief hesitation, I take it.

"Colleagues," I reply, as I squeeze it briefly, then let go. "We'll work on the friends part." With that we part ways, Amy to her old beat up car, and me out on the streets to find Bella.

When I get to Ink it Black, I find Bella pacing the sidewalk, waiting for me. She looks anxious, but smiles when she sees me. I pull her in for a hug because I can never resist touching her. The shape of her is already so familiar it feels like home to my body, and I sigh as I breathe her in.

"Hi, there, I was beginning to worry the café was being robbed or something. What took you so long?" she murmurs into my shoulder, then steps back to look at me. "Are you okay?" Her brow is furrowed, and I resist the urge to follow that wrinkle between her brows with my index finger. I sigh. I guess my tiredness is showing.

"It's nothing. I was closing with Amy, and it took a little longer than usual, that's all. God, I'm glad tomorrow is Tuesday. One more day and then we'll go." I put my arm around Bella's shoulders as we walk down the alley on the side of Ink it Black, to the entrance of the upstairs apartments.

Bella adjusts the shoulder strap of her bag and puts her arm around my waist, our hips bumping together. "You know I want to get out of town early on Wednesday to beat the morning traffic, right?" I groan.

"Yes, I know! I just don't want to think about getting up at seven when I'm not working, not right now." I hear Bella's quiet chuckle beside me, and smile at my own frustration. "Sorry, I would just like to be really lazy for a day and do absolutely nothing, preferably together with you. Is your period over yet?"

Bella looks up at me and just shakes her head, disbelievingly. "You've asked me that every day, Edward, and you know I told you that it normally takes about five days. So what day is today?"

I hesitate. "Um, day five?" Bella rolls her eyes at me.

"Yes, so tomorrow it may be over, if everything's normal. Happy now?"

I smirk at her.

"Oh, you have no idea!" I squeeze her hard before ringing the bell to the second floor. Maryanne told me they lived above the bar, right? It takes maybe ten seconds before there's a crackle and a female voice over the intercom.

"Yes? Who is it?" I clear my throat and lean in close to make myself heard.

"Hello, it's Edward. Is that you, Maryanne?"

"Oh, you came!" She sounds really happy, as if she wasn't expecting me to show. I must have played hard to get last time we met. "Hang on a minute, I'll be right down." There's another crackle, and then the speaker falls silent. I use the time wisely, leaning down to kiss Bella briefly before Maryanne shows. Bella's smile breaks our kiss. "Have you done this before?" she asks me.

I let her go, and look over at the door, expecting Maryanne to burst through at any minute. "What? You mean have I practiced here before? No, just that one time I told you about. This should be better, when the place is empty. An audience makes me self-conscious."

Bella taps my chest with her finger. "That seems kind of weird, coming from you. If you're such an accomplished pianist, why aren't you used to having an audience?" I shrug, looking down at her cute, frowning face. I want to kiss her so much right now, it's like an aching tooth, impossible to ignore; but I don't think being caught pressed up against a brick wall with my tongue down her throat is something Bella would approve of. Too much PDA. So I swallow and shuffle my feet, fighting down the kissing urge.

"Oh, I've played in front of audiences before; I just never liked it. I used to throw up before every concert when I was younger. My adoptive parents tried to give me drugs against sea sickness because they thought it had something to do with dizziness, but it didn't work. I just got used to thinking carefully about what I ate before a concert so it wouldn't look totally gross when it came back up again later." I smirk at Bella as she makes an adorable "ewww"sound. "Red and green Jello was kind of cool," I add, just to tease her.

Before she can reply, Maryanne _does _burst out of the door, black hair swinging, dressed in a sort of baggy sleeveless black dress that's cut so low you can see her tank top and bra peeking out beneath it, flip flops on her feet. Her toe and finger nails are painted a matching dark blue. She looks like a badass ragdoll. Maryanne smiles at me, then points at Bella. "You brought Bella, too. Cool. Follow me." Without further conversation, she leads the way to the back service entrance, and when she's unlocked the door, she finds the light switch and guides us in through the maze of back rooms to the bar.

I'm always amazed at the cluttered spaces hidden in the back of most of the store fronts I've looked behind. It seems they could be renting all that space out for something more useful, like for homeless people to live in. I guess that's just homeless Edward talking. When you're desperate for some shelter it just seems unfair that they close the malls at night, denying people without a home all that heated space to sleep in. I clutch at Bella's hand as we walk through the dusty hallway and emerge behind the bar.

Entering in the dark, I feel disoriented until Maryanne starts turning on the lights and I get my bearings. Chairs are up on tables, but otherwise it looks the same, just bigger, now that it's empty of people. I make a bee-line for the piano, which is up on the stage. Bella hangs back, maybe to give me some space, maybe wanting to talk to Maryanne, I don't know. The truth is, on the one hand I want her beside me on a piano bench sharing my personal space, but on the other hand, I want to be completely alone. It's as if she senses the conflict in me.

I sit down with my back to them and I block out the sound of their voices. Turning the piano on, I start warming up with a few scales, then improvise some chords. The music works the way it always has, pulling me out of my head, into a different space, exactly where I need to be. I try to remember things I've played before, and a Scottish air comes back to me that I haven't thought of in a long time. I pick out a few notes of "Wild Mountain Thyme." The lilting, bittersweet music brings to mind other folk tunes that Esme listened to when I was a kid, music I learned to play for her. "All My Troubles," "All The Pretty Little Horses," "The Water Is Wide" are all songs she used to hum to me, that is, before Alice took all her time and energy.

After a while I pick out other songs, the kind of songs I used to play on the guitar when I had locked myself in my room. Not even the piano calling to me from downstairs could entice me out of there. I play "Iris" and I want to sing it, but I sort of choke on the lyrics because suddenly they feel too close to home. Then an old song comes to mind and I look around because I want Bella to hear this one. I freeze when I realize that Maryanne and Bella are both seated nearby, to my right, Maryanne with a bunch of papers spread out in front of her on the table and Bella with a glass of amber liquid by her hand. Both of them are watching me. Two pair of beautiful, dark eyes, pinning me to my chair. I feel self-conscious and look away. Have they been listening intently the whole time?

I stand up and stretch the muscles in my back and arms before sitting down again. I look at the two women now facing me. "Okay, so I want to play a song for you, and then maybe I'll take some requests," I say. Not that I'm sure I could play whatever they want, but I'm willing to try. I'm feeling better. Tiredness from my long week of work has begun to melt away. I turn back to the piano and start picking out the chords to "Your Song," going over the lyrics in my mind before I start to sing. I've always been more embarrassed about my voice when I sing to the piano, maybe because the piano seems to raise expectations in a way the guitar doesn't. Any fool can pick out the chords from a guitar, right? At this moment, I guess I am just a fool. A fool for love.

"It's a little bit funny, this feeling inside / I'm not one of those who can easily hide /  
I don't have much money, but boy if I did / I'd buy a big house where we both could live. "

I smile to myself, because it's true. If I could buy that house from Rose, I would so that we could live there forever, running on the beach at sunset, waking up to the sound of the waves in the morning.

"If I was a sculptor, but then again no / Or a man who makes potions, in a traveling show. / Oh, I know it's not much, but it's the best I can do / My gift is my song, and this one's for you. "

I'm glad that I'm not facing Bella right now, because she would read the truth in my eyes. The truth that I love her so fucking much that I never want to let her go. A truth I don't know if I can burden her with on top of everything else that's going on in her life now. It hurts to keep it inside, but maybe it's better that I do.

"And you can tell everybody that this is your song /It may be quite simple, but now that it's done / I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind that I put down in words / How wonderful life is, while you're in the world."

My voice almost breaks on the high notes, more from the emotion I'm keeping to myself than anything else. I improvise a little to cover it, playing around, allowing my fingers to go stumbling over the chords before I launch into the second part of the song. As I get to the refrain again, my voice gains power and I hold out the high sweet note. I hold on to it as if it were a kiss I don't want to end, before landing in the simple, half-whispered statement: "How wonderful life is, while you're in the world."

I let the song finish only half-conscious of what my fingers are doing, because I become aware of someone standing behind me. Right before I turn my head, Bella's hand softly squeezes my shoulder, and I'm enveloped in her sweet scent. When my hands stop moving on the piano keys, her arms come around me and she leans her cheek against the top of my head. I grasp her folded hands on my chest with both of mine, sighing. Maybe she doesn't need to see my face. Maybe she just knows.

Maryanne jumps up on the stage, which effectively breaks the spell, and Bella abruptly lets go of me and stands back, probably embarrassed by her own semi-public display of emotion. Maryanne slaps me on the back and leans on the piano, her eyes sparkling at me.

"Man, that was pretty good! I always thought you had a nice speaking voice, but you can really sing, too. How come you haven't sung before?" I shrug.

"I don't really feel comfortable singing in front of strangers. I'm not that good. It seems … pretentious. Plus, I have a hard time focusing on the lyrics when I'm playing something I don't know that well."

"But if you had the sheet music, that would be okay, right?" Maryanne asks, eagerly.

I raise my eyebrows at her. "I don't know. I guess. It all depends on if I have had enough time to practice, and how nervous I get and everything. Why are you asking?" Maryanne shakes her head.

"No reason, I'm just curious. So, you haven't performed like this before?" She leans her head on her hand, and starts tracing shapes with her finger on top of the piano. I can feel more than see Bella shifting on her feet beside me, so I turn to her and say: "Bring up a chair, if you like, it'll be more comfortable." She silently does as I say and sits down on the stage a short distance from me so that I can see her face. I wish she were closer; on my lap would be perfect.

I shake my head at Maryanne. "No, I haven't performed like this in front of people for money, if that's what you mean. Sure, I've sometimes played at the home of a friend or at a party; you know those times when everyone's goofing around and people start showing off? But I'm not a performer, no. As I said, singing in front of strangers makes me nervous. I've only done it when I was drunk." I smirk at her.

She smiles back at me. "Well, that can be arranged. I gave Bella a shot of our Macallan; what are you having?" She stands up and gestures to the bar. I sit up straighter as a reflex, but shake my head.

"No, thanks, I think I prefer to stay sober for this. So, did you want to hear anything in particular?" I look up at Maryanne, and she hesitates, biting her thumb nail, then grimaces as she realizes she's messing up her nail polish. "Didn't you play this song by Coldplay the other day, "Fix You?" Play that again, will you? And can you sing the lyrics, too?" She looks hopeful. I make a face.

"I'm not sure I know them well enough to sing them, but I can play." Maryann grins.

"Okay, I'll help you. If I mouth them to you, you can sing them too, right?"'

I end up playing "Fix You" for her, and we sort of sing it together. Her voice is a little husky, but attractive, and she can carry a tune. I notice Bella joining in on the refrain, harmonizing faintly in the background with a pleasant alto voice. "Lights will guide you home, and ignite your bones, and I will try to fix you." It makes me smile. I turn to her when we're finished.

"I didn't know you could sing, Bella. I like your voice." She colors up and shakes her head, but smiles right back at me.

"I used to hum tunes all the time when I was a kid, but as an adult I've learned to control it. People look at you weirdly if you walk around humming in the grocery store without ear phones."

"So, what would you like to hear?" I ask.

She asks for something classical, and I end up fumbling my way through Debussy's "Clair de lune," and then one of Eric Satie's "Gymnopedies," things I played six months to a year before. I have a very good memory for music, but it would be better if I could see the sheet music for this. Maryanne is impressed but impatient to hear me play some more pop songs. I end up playing ballads. It's not the stuff I'm normally into, but they are songs that I know well enough and that are fairly easy to pick out on the piano.

Finally, she says: "Hey, Edward, I want you to come play in the bar one of these weekends. You're much too good for us to miss out on that opportunity." I shake my head doubtfully, looking over at Bella.

"I don't think that would be a good idea. I'm out of practice, and as I said, I get much too nervous to sing in front of an audience."

Maryanne's scowling at me. "Shut up, don't give me that shit. You're good and you know it. If you're nervous, you have to get over it. I want people to hear you, and it would be a great draw to have someone like you sing. I mean, you're not only good, you're nice to look at, too." She's smiling now and I know she's teasing, but it still makes me a bit uncomfortable. Sitting in front of a piano under the lights while people gawk at me and criticize me; am I really up for that? I turn off the piano, stand up and rub my neck.

"I don't know if I'm comfortable with the idea. And, anyway, I would never get together enough material for a whole night's performance. That would be like, what, two hours, or at least one hour and a half? I couldn't possibly scrape together more than 45 minutes, tops." This is probably true, if I want to have a couple of weeks time to practice, enough to play in front of a Saturday night crowd.

Maryanne claps her hands together. "Actually, that's perfect. We're having a sort of open mike night the weekend after this, and we've talked about getting a few people we know to come round to play, to warm up the crowd and to make sure that it doesn't turn out too crappy. How about if you start, play for half an hour, and then close, playing for 15 to 20 minutes? That way, we know it will be something good and the whole night won't be totally embarrassing, whatever comes in between."

I hesitate. I'll have one week to get ready. One week isn't much, especially since I'll have to squeeze time in after work, hopefully when the bar isn't too crowded. I look a question over at Bella. Her eyes are on me, and they're filled with light.

"Do _you _want me to do this?" I ask her. She hesitates, then nods.

"I would love to hear you play, but only if you want to. Don't do it if you'll hate it."

Maryanne throws her hands in the air, exasperated. "What's _wrong _with you people – are you complete introverts? Most people would kill to get an audience, and here you stand around moping about whether it will be unpleasant or too much work. I don't believe it!" I have to smile at her outburst.

"Come on, Maryanne, you can't seriously mean that people would kill to play at Ink it Black open mike night?" I crinkle my nose at her. "Actually, I hope you're paying me to do this, because I'll have a hard time finding time to practice outside work, and I'm not busting my ass for you just over the incredible boon of being allowed to play here." She frowns at me, then leans in and taps my chest with her finger, hard.

"Fine. I'll give you a hundred bucks to open and close the night. That's it. But I expect you to make it worth my while. Charm the crowd and make them thirsty. And you can come in any time you want next Monday to use the piano, and whenever we're open in the afternoon if you get off work early. Just give me a call. Here, give me your cell phone, and I'll punch in my number for you." She holds out her hand, and I hand over my phone without question. I lift my eyebrows at the thought that now I have the phone number of _three_ gorgeous women in my phone – wow!

I feel tired, though, and when I take my phone back, I see that it's nearly nine o'clock. I shake myself to loosen my aching limbs and look over at Bella.

"Time to go home? I'm feeling tired," I say. She walks up to me, takes my hand and gives me that small, quiet smile that sparks a smoldering warmth inside my chest. "Yeah," she says, "let's go home."

* * *

**A/N: Do you play an instrument yourself? Did you ever fall for someone just because he/she could play? What would you ask Edward to play for you on the piano if you could wish for anything? I was kind of swooning for Edward playing the piano in BD2 - those wonderful fingers moving over the keys... Please let me know what you think if you have time! I believe that the next chapter will contain a lemon...I can taste the citrus in the air.**


	34. Chapter 34

**A/N: Disclaimer - Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. My supportive and understanding beta, Trekgeezer has worked hard to get this ready for me on time, three cheers for her! Thank you all for reading…**

* * *

_But  
if each day,  
each hour,  
you feel that you are destined for me  
with implacable sweetness,  
if each day a flower  
climbs up to your lips to seek me,  
ah my love, ah my own,  
in me all that fire is repeated,  
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,  
my love feeds on your love, beloved,  
and as long as you live it will be in your arms  
without leaving mine._

Pablo Neruda: If You Should Forget Me

* * *

**Chapter 34**

**EPOV**

Maryanne gathers her papers together and walks us out, winding through narrow spaces that smell of stale beer, turning the lights out as we go. The bar returns to its dusty darkness, and the warm summer air seems twice as refreshing when we exit into the alley behind the building. Once we reach her door, Maryanne turns to us.

"Sure you don't want to come up for a drink or a cup of coffee?" The street lights leave her face in shadow, and I think there is something wistful, almost forlorn about her stance and the way she holds her head. She seems lonely, and looks much younger in that dress than she did in her jeans, working confidently at the bar. The beautiful ink I see circling her arms, however, marks the life experiences of an adult woman. I must remember to ask her about them someday.

Bella leans into me, and circles my waist with her arm. I immediately know that all I want right now is to be alone with her. I shake my head.

"No, I mean it; I'm dead on my feet. Another time, though, I'd love to come over. If your invitation still stands after I get nervous playing in front of strangers, throw up in your bar and embarrass myself. We'll see, okay?" I squeeze Bella's shoulders, hugging her back. I'm not sure if Tony is upstairs, how Bella feels about seeing him, or how I feel about him seeing Bella. I'll think about it another time when I'm feeling less tired and emotionally spent. Playing has calmed me down, but it's also taken something out of me.

Maryanne shrugs, but I can hear a smile in her voice, "Okay. Go home, then. The walking dead are no fun. Give me a call when you want to come over."

Once she's safely inside, we make our way home through the darkened streets, where the occasional restaurant or store is spilling people out onto the sidewalk. Even though we didn't speak about it to Maryanne, it feels as if we acted like a couple, and she naturally assumed we were together. Now that we're walking together entwined, in public, I reflect on how good it feels. I want to earn the right to feel like this all the time.

"Bella, when we go up to San Francisco, what are we going as?" I feel her shoulders twitch under my arm.

"I've booked us into a double room under my name, if that's what you're asking?" Her voice is cautious.

I hesitate, before going on. "What I mean is, if we run into someone you know in San Francisco, a friend or a colleague, would you introduce me as your boyfriend, friend, or something else? I'd just like to know in advance, so it won't be awkward when it happens." She's silent for a beat too long. I just wish she would have replied without thinking.

"Of course, I'll introduce you as my boyfriend, Edward, if and when we meet people. But I'm thinking that you don't want to talk too much about yourself to perfect strangers, so I'm not planning on setting up any dinner dates." I squeeze her shoulder, apologetically. I know that maybe I'm pushing it, since I'm the one wanting to be anonymous. I just don't want to feel like she's ashamed of being seen with me anymore. She isn't, is she?

By the time we reach the house, I feel the breeze picking up. The air is cooler down here by the ocean front. Our shoes ring out against the stairs, and Bella's keys jangle as she takes them out of her purse to unlock the front door. Suddenly, I remember that first day she opened the door and the scared look on her face. I thought she was afraid of me, but maybe that wasn't what was going through her head.

Bella punches in the code to deactivate the alarm, kicks off her shoes and drops her keys and purse on the hallway table. I close the door behind us, then reach out and put a hand on her shoulder. She turns and looks a question at me. The only light is the small lamp on the side table that is often left burning because we forget to turn it off. Her face is lit by its soft glow, throwing shadows under the curve of her cheekbones. I'll never get over how beautiful she is.

"I never asked you, Bella, not in so many words, but … were you afraid of James? Did he ever hurt you? Abuse you? Are you worried about seeing him again if we go to San Francisco?" She blinks, then looks down at the floor, twisting the bottom of her shirt between her fingers.

"Oh. I don't know." She looks up at me, dark eyes looking troubled. "I mean, I don't know if I'm afraid of meeting him again. I haven't thought about it for a while. But, no, he never hit me or anything like that, grabbed my arm a little hard sometimes, maybe, when we were arguing. I was afraid of him, though, towards the end of our relationship. He became … I don't know, cold, filled with contempt. As if I were the enemy. I felt like I didn't know him anymore – he had changed. He drank more, too." She shifts on her feet, looking away from me. "I'm going to get some water, do you want some?" I shake my head, and follow her into the kitchen.

I lean on the counter as she takes a water bottle out of the fridge, twists the top off and drinks deeply from it. I watch the movements of her throat as she swallows and, in spite of myself, I'm turned on thinking about her going down on me. I'm hopeless! I try to clear my mind from the horny fog descending over it.

"Why did you stay with him? Were you happy together? When did things change?"

Bella shrugs, holding the water bottle between her hands, thumb running around the lid.

"I thought we were happy. For years I believed everything was as it should be. Not that we didn't fight, and I was sometimes unhappy that I couldn't do everything I wanted to do, but I thought, hey that's marriage. Marriage is compromise. When you share your life with someone, you can't always get your way in everything. James and I made a deal early on that professionally his job was more important than mine. I thought I was fine with that, but lately I've realized that I probably resented him for it. And maybe I shut him out when I thought I was helping by not burdening him with the unimportant stuff in my life." She puts the bottle down and pulls her hair out of the ponytail, absentmindedly running her fingers over her scalp as if to ease an ache there.

"The last five years I think we were just running on routine. We managed our marriage like an efficient machine, coordinating calendars, redecorating, going on trips, working, working, always working. But I didn't believe that anything was seriously wrong until the very end when everything I said seemed to rub him the wrong way. I started avoiding him whenever possible. He said some cruel things to me …" her voice trails off, then she shakes her head abruptly, so that her dark hair flies over her shoulder. "No, let's not talk about him anymore, he doesn't deserve it. What's done is done." Bella looks straight at me, then walks over and puts her arms around me. I stand up straight to pull her into a tight hug, leaning my cheek against her fragrant hair. She smells like spring rain and grass.

"Being with you, like this, makes me happy. That's all that matters now," she whispers, pressing her cheek into my shirt.

I lean down to capture her chin, tilting her head up towards me for a kiss. Her lips are petal soft, and the cool tip of her tongue is enticing me to kiss her more deeply, harder, so I do. Holding the back of her head with one hand, I squeeze her hip with the other. Breathless, I continue kissing her jawline, her neck and the soft place behind her ear. Bella groans and pulls my hips towards her so that I can grind against her. Things get heated quickly, as they usually do with us. But I know she's still on her period, so I tell myself not to get carried away. Panting, I stop kissing and grinding and just hold her against me.

"Bella, you're driving me crazy. We have to stop. What do you want to do, watch a movie? Go to bed? I need to take a shower, anyway, I probably smell like cigarettes and fried food, right?"

She groans in frustration, leaning her forehead against my chest as I stroke her back. Then I feel her smooth fingers running up over my abdomen under my shirt, and I'm tingling all over again. "Bella!" I growl a warning at her, but I don't stop her; her hands on me always feel way too good.

She peeks up at me, smiling, as her fingers trace butterfly shapes on my stomach, filling my inside with electric butterflies, too. "Can I watch you shower, please?"

My heart stops for a moment, then starts beating hard. Wow. That's hot. I swallow, my throat a little dry, "Sure, I would love some company. Will you be joining me?" That's another fantasy of mine, taking Bella in the shower, her wet, naked body pressed up against the tiles. When I lift her up, her legs wrap around me as I penetrate her in one swift move, then pound into her until we both come. Okay, so it's probably too slippery and dangerous to work in real life, but a powerful fantasy nevertheless.

She shakes her head, looking a little embarrassed, as she licks her lips. I'm immediately mesmerized. Mmmm, those lips.

"No, I'd just like to watch, if that's okay?" I nod, dumbfounded. Anything's okay, as long as I can get naked with her in the same room.

"Sure, I hear showering is a great spectator sport. What are we waiting for?" I push away from the counter, pulling my shirt over my head, then grab her hand and start walking towards the bathroom. I can't wait.

Once there, I shut the door behind us, lock it, and quickly pull Bella around, pushing her up against the door and kissing her hard. I'm excited beyond words, and yet as far as I know I'm just going to be taking a shower; I don't know how she does this to me! When she moans into my mouth and caresses my chest, teasing my nipples, I growl and capture her hands. I pin them to the door above her head and just keep kissing her. My nipples are really sensitive and I don't want to come in my pants before I can get out of them.

Bella seems to get it, and gently wriggles her hands until I let go. She twists them through my hair instead. She's sucking on my bottom lip, then bites down, and I feel it like an electric arrow shooting straight to my crotch. I love her teeth on me, too. I have to push away from her to get my breath back, because I'm feeling almost cross-eyed from sexual tension. She's flushed and panting, too, and I would love to get her out of those jeans. But I guess I'm the one who's going to do the striptease.

I turn on the shower to get it warm, lean down to strip off my socks, and then smirk at her as I slowly release my belt and unbutton my jeans. My cock is hard and straining against the material, and it's pure relief to let the jeans fall to the floor. I adjust myself, then palm myself firmly through my boxers, looking straight into Bella's eyes. She breaks eye contact, watching my movements with fascination, and her color deepens even more as she catches her breath. I know she wants me, too, and her desire is such a turn-on.

Slowly and with deliberation, I pull down my underwear, letting my cock spring free, and kick the clothes aside. I step into the shower, leaving the sliding glass door half open so that we can see each other clearly. Bella sits down on the toilet seat, her eyes roaming over my body as the hot water splashes over me. I feel sexy and powerful, knowing that I have her full attention, and I decide to give her a show. I flex my abs as I put my head under the shower spray, running my hands through my hair and leaning back to give her a full view. I grab the soap and lather up, letting my hands caress my body, imagining that it's Bella's hands. I can't resist anymore, so I grab my cock firmly and pump it a couple of times, watching Bella's reaction.

"You know I fantasize about you all the time, Bella?" My voice sounds raspy, and I feel everything tingle from her eyes on me: my nipples, my fingers, my glowing, sensitive skin and my straining cock. "I don't know how many times I've fantasized about you like this, in the shower." I slowly increase my pace, not wanting this to be too quick. Bella's eyes are glazed over, watching me, and now she's running one hand up under her shirt, over her breast. Squeezing it gently she starts rocking almost imperceptibly, her legs spread out, pressing down on the seat. I think she's getting herself off, and even though she's not showing much skin, it's one of the sexiest things I've ever seen.

"I've fantasized about you touching me, your hands on my cock, pumping me like this," I squeeze harder, imagining it's her hand. "And I've imagined going down on you, spreading you open and licking you, with the water running over your naked body." I see her gasp at the idea, her eyes darkening. Yes, I know she loves it. I swallow.

"And I've imagined you on your knees in front of me, taking me in your sweet mouth." Oh, the image itself is almost enough to make me cum, right there, so I focus hard on Bella's face, her mouth half open, as she starts rocking more firmly, gripping the sides of the seat. I want to see her cum, so much, and I want to be the one to bring her over the edge. I start pumping in earnest, feeling a wave of excitement rise through my body at the thought of her cumming right there in front of me.

"But most of all, I've imagined being inside you, feeling your heat around me as I slide home. I want to take you so badly, in all kinds of positions. I want to see your face as you cum when I pound into you hard. I want to bend you over and push into your tight little body and hear you moan … Oh my God, Bella, I'm cumming, I'm cumming!" And I do, tears in my eyes as everything inside me tightens and explodes. The ecstasy of seeing her close her eyes and moan aloud as she rocks to her own climax is too much for words.

The ropes of cum on my abdomen are quickly washed away as I ride out my orgasm, my legs shaking under me. Whacking off has never felt this good before. Bella is clearly what has been missing in my life forever. I watch her coming down from her own high, her eyes dreamy and her mouth still half open and smiling lazily at me. She palms her sex on top of her jeans, rocking into her own hand, and it's almost enough to make me hard again. Almost. I must ask her to do this for me again sometime. If I had known how exciting it would be to watch her get herself off, I would have asked her ages ago.

I turn off the shower and squeeze the water from my hair. Bella stands up to hand me my towel. "May I help you with that?" she asks, her eyes glowing.

So I let her rub me down, enjoying the feeling of her hands gently toweling my hair, running down my chest, back and arms, giving my behind a playful squeeze before she kneels to dry my legs and feet. It shouldn't be, but the thought of her on her knees giving me a blow job is just too hot for words. I have to force my thoughts elsewhere to avoid another erection.

When I'm dried off, she wraps the towel around my waist and steps into my hug, kissing my naked chest softly, repeatedly.

"God, Edward, that was so hot. Can we do that every day when you get home from work, please?"

I smile and hold her, feeling relaxed and pleasantly spent. "Yeah, well, as long as we're both getting off, I have no problem with that," I reply. I stroke the hair out of her eyes and look at her, admiring.

"I never knew how hot it would be watching you like that. Please tell me you're not wasting your orgasms alone while I'm away?" She looks a little embarrassed. "What, you get yourself off after I leave for work?" Now, I'm shocked – and a little turned on. Is Bella really _that_ horny? Who knew?

She shakes her head. "No, seriously, Edward, I don't spend my days masturbating, of course not! Just, it may have happened once or twice when I was frustrated with work. Maybe I started thinking about you a little bit too much. Never mind, forget I said anything!" She pulls away from me, embarrassed, as she feels me shaking with laughter. I catch her, and quickly pull her in for a brief kiss. She relaxes again, and kisses me back. I apologize.

"Sorry, I'm not laughing at you! I'm just so incredibly flattered and turned on to imagine that you'd be touching yourself thinking of me while I'm oblivious miles away. Could you, you know, consider calling me when you get the urge? We've never actually had phone sex." I waggle my eyebrows at her, and she giggles.

"No phone sex, Edward! I'll try to keep it together until you get home so I can get you in the shower with me instead next time."

I sit down on the toilet and pull her into my lap, looking into her eyes. Since we're on the subject of fantasies, maybe it's time for another confession. "You know I told you I fantasize about you a lot?" She squirms in my lap, nodding. "If I tell you a fantasy of mine, will you tell me one of yours?"

She bites her lip. "Maybe," she says cautiously. "I've never actually talked about my sexual fantasies with anyone before." I raise my eyebrows at her. "Really? Not to James? Not with a girlfriend?"

She rolls her eyes. "Right, Rosalie would _love _it if I told her about my sex life! Which is why I keep it to myself. It's private."

I squeeze her waist with my one hand and rub my eyes with the other. "Okay, so then maybe this was a bad idea? Let's forget about it." I don't want to embarrass her, and my fantasies are probably completely juvenile, anyway. Bella pulls my hand away from my face, serious. "No, that's not how I meant it. I mean, I feel shy talking about things like this, but that doesn't mean I don't think or don't want to hear about it. I've been a pretty lousy communicator when it comes to sex before, so I want to get better at it. Shoot. Tell me." She frowns. "I'm not saying that I promise to fulfill your dirty dreams, but I'm sure willing to listen. Go on then, shock me!" She smiles, triumphant.

I cock a skeptical eyebrow at her. "You're sure?" She nods. I sigh. "Okay, this will probably sound stupid now, but I've actually fantasized about you being my teacher and having your way with me in the classroom." I close my eyes, waiting for her reaction; laughter or disgust? She pulls in a deep breath, then lets it out slowly. I peek up at her face. She looks … thoughtful.

"Your teacher as in your kindergarten teacher, or your university professor, or what?" she asks.

"Mmm … I think more like my high school teacher because that's the horniest I've ever been, sitting in class, bored to death, willing away my random boner, waiting for the bell to ring so I could go and take care of it in the bathroom." She's smiling, but I think she's catching on to the idea.

"Let me guess, you're thinking sexy librarian now? In a black skirt, white blouse, heels, a chignon and strict, black-rimmed glasses, right?" I feel a surge of excitement. Down, boy! I clear my throat.

"Eh, yes, that's pretty much it. How did you know?" Bella rolls her eyes.

"Really, Edward? That's such a cliché!" Before I can be offended, she kisses my nose and winks. "But it's a sexy cliché." Her face falls and she looks doubtful. "I'm not sure I could pull it off, though. I don't think I could be, well, I don't know, sexy and provocative enough."

I growl, and bite down gently on her neck, making her jump. "Bella, shut up. You're pretty provocative sitting right here, let me tell you. Put yourself in a skirt and heels and look at me over the top of a pair of glasses, and I'll probably cum in my pants, right there!" Actually, I'm getting a reaction from down under just thinking about it. I point it out by rubbing myself against her. She squeal-snorts and jumps up.

"Okay, you'd better get some clothes on, because I'm not going to do anything about that fantasy of yours tonight, mister."

"But you're not saying never, right?" I ask her, putting on my best hopeful face.

She smiles and touches my cheek. "No, I'm not saying never. Let's think about it for a while, okay? And now I want to go to bed. Is my bed okay for tonight?" I pull her to me, and bury my face against her shirt.

"Wonderful," I say, "as long as you're in it. But, hey, you never told me about your fantasy?" I stand up and let her long hair weave through my fingers. I love how soft it feels. She closes her eyes, and I can tell that she's feeling embarrassed. I let her hide her face against my body as she speaks, her voice muffled.

"I don't want to say this, because it feels weird, and it's not something I would want to happen to anyone in real life … but sometimes I have fantasies about being taken by a stranger against my will. You know, someone just using me, bending me over the kitchen counter and having his way with me. It feels degrading and wrong just saying it out loud." I swallow. I don't like the idea of rape, and definitely not of Bella being raped. I don't know if I could pretend to be a rapist. The idea just feels off to me. But I don't want her to feel judged, now that she's shared something she's clearly uncomfortable talking about.

"Hey," I say softly. "Isn't that something a lot of people fantasize about? It's just a fantasy about giving up control, right? It's nothing to feel bad about. I know I kind of loved it when you tied me up and had your way with me, so I think I know what you're talking about." She looks up at me, clearly still embarrassed. I stroke her cheek. "I could never hurt you, Bella, and I don't want to do anything that feels like I am, but if you want me to take control sometimes, I can." I smirk. "Besides, I would really love to bend you over something, so maybe we could work with that?" She nods and smiles, and I think we're okay. Blowing out a breath, she turns, unlocks the door and leaves the bathroom, smiling at me over her shoulder.

I stand there for a beat, my head spinning with new images. I envision Bella behind a desk, sexy librarian look in place, frowning at me over the top of her glasses, her ruler at the ready. Then I'm bending her over the desk, pushing her skirt up over her hips, pants around my feet. I think of Bella tying me up again, without a blindfold this time. Even better, I'm tying Bella up and going down on her, repeatedly. The possibilities are endless and time is limited. I hope that damn period will be over by Wednesday, or I'll start pulling my hair out in frustration!

* * *

**A/N: Whew, fantasies can be a hot bother! Are you the shy type like Bella, or did you always feel comfortable talking about sex with others? I know I've mostly had a hard time sharing my thoughts and feelings on the subject, that's for sure. If you could share a fantasy with Edward, what would it be? – no, you don't have to tell me, lol! Whisper it to Edward – I know he'll be fascinated!**


	35. Chapter 35

**A/N: Disclaimer - Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. Many warm thanks to my fabulous beta, Trekgeezer! Without her I would be adrift in a sea of interpunctuation confusion.. Any remaining mistakes are my fault!**

* * *

_The heart is a bloom  
Shoots up through the stony ground  
There's no room  
No space to rent in this town_

_You're out of luck And the reason that you had to care_  
_The traffic is stuck_  
_And you're not moving anywhere_

_You thought you'd found a friend_  
_To take you out of this place_  
_Someone you could lend a hand_  
_In return for grace_

_It's a beautiful day_  
_Sky falls, you feel like_  
_It's a beautiful day_  
_Don't let it get away_

_Touch me_  
_Take me to that other place_  
_Teach me_  
_I know I'm not a hopeless case_

_What you don't have you don't need it now_  
_What you don't know you can feel it somehow_  
_What you don't have you don't need it now_  
_Don't need it now_  
_Was a beautiful day_

U2: Beautiful Day

* * *

**Chapter 35**

**BPOV**

When Wednesday morning comes, I'm awake before the alarm goes off at seven o'clock. I'm just so excited to be going away with Edward, I can't sleep! He's still mumbling into his pillow, though, when I gently nudge him, as if he knows it's his day off and he has the right to sleep in. He was so beat last night after our run that he practically fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. I smile, and give up. We're all packed and ready to go; the only thing needed is a shower and breakfast. I can get a jump start on him and wake him when breakfast is ready.

I wash my hair, decide to blow-dry it later, and throw on a pair of cargo shorts and a man's shirt (not one of Edward's, since I don't want to deprive him). Rolling up the sleeves, I sneak into the kitchen to start the coffee and tea and scramble some eggs for us. I'm not sure if we're going to stop for lunch somewhere, so maybe we should make some sandwiches to take with us? That way, we could have a picnic at some place along the road if we feel like it.

The coffee is ready, and I'm just about to turn off the stove when Edward walks into the kitchen. He's barefoot and bare-chested with his sweats riding low on his hips and his hair rumpled from sleep. He looks good enough to eat, and suddenly I don't want breakfast anymore. My stomach growls in protest, so I decide that maybe I'll have some breakfast first and _then_ attack Edward.

He envelops me in his arms, and I'm amazed by how deliciously soft his skin feels when the lean body beneath it is all hardness. He kisses me and I taste the mint on his breath; always so thoughtful. I tug on his hair and groan, breaking the kiss, reluctantly.

"Edward, I was just about to serve breakfast, don't distract me like this, please?" He smiles against my mouth, capturing my lips again.

"Oh, I have breakfast right here, Bella. Did you say your period was over today?" He squeezes my behind through my shorts and I yelp, trying to break away. "Yes. How about breakfast?" Suddenly Edward stills, his arms around me, and looks into my eyes.

"Bella, Monday night you said something to me about a fantasy you had of relinquishing control. It involved a kitchen counter. Would now be a good time?" I become equally still, my mind racing a mile a minute. Suddenly all thoughts of breakfast are gone, my empty stomach flips and becomes a secondary concern to the throbbing feeling at my center. It's as if my insides are melting and my arms feel weak. Oh, my. I nod, not trusting my voice. Edward smiles and whispers, "Good."

Suddenly he's all over me, pressing me up against the kitchen wall. He's kissing me hard as his hands work on relieving me of my shorts. I'm short of breath, and I don't know what to do with my hands. Should I help him? Fake struggle? My fantasies were never this detailed. I want to do this, though, so I shouldn't try to fight him off, right? That would probably be a turn-off for him, anyway. I end up just tugging weakly on his hair, which only makes him growl and attack my mouth harder. Before I know it, my shorts are lying on the floor. I step out of them as he spins me around and presses me down over the kitchen counter. Wow! He's so … forceful – but he's careful not to hurt me.

He leans over me, holding me down with his body weight. His one hand pins my hands together on the counter above my head, while the other slowly pulls my panties down to my knees. I'm embarrassingly wet, and my nipples and center are positively tingling. I'm lit up like a Christmas tree. He kisses my neck and sucks on my earlobe as he whispers, "You are so beautiful, and I can't wait to have my way with you. You're mine now, all mine, and you know that, right? Say it!" His voice becomes louder, commanding.

"I'm yours," I say, breathless. I feel a blush rising, heating my face, but this is a fantasy and I don't have to act responsible. Right now, I'm leaving Edward in control because I feel completely safe with him. His right hand caresses my thighs, squeezing my behind, then he nudges my legs a bit further apart with his knee before he fingers me, sucking in a breath when he feels just how wet I am for him.

"This is for me, too, isn't it?" I can hear a smile in his voice. Then he's back in character again, his voice deeper. "I'm going to let go of you, but you're going to stay perfectly still and quiet, or else I may have to tie you up and gag you, okay? You'll do exactly as I say. Say it!"

"I'll do exactly as you say," I repeat obediently, though the thought of him tying me up is sort of hot, too. Maybe we'll talk about that another time. I stay perfectly still as he pulls my panties clear off me and runs his hands up my sides. I tense briefly. He's not going to undress me completely, is he? The sun's streaming into the kitchen, and suddenly I feel exposed. His hands on me become still.

"Don't move. I just want to get a good feel of your tits. The shirt can stay on. It's this," and he unclasps my bra, "that's got to go." He allows me to lift my upper body away from the counter, my hands still clasped and held out in front of me. Edward runs his hands up my front and squeezes my breasts, rolling the nipples in his fingers, gently pinching them into even firmer attention. He groans.

"They feel fucking amazing!" I can feel him grinding against my behind, his cock very noticeable through his sweats. As turned on as I am, I hope he won't drag this out for much longer because it's been ages and I really need him inside me, now. Fortunately, Edward seems to feel the same way because he deftly unbuttons the top buttons of my shirt and drags it down, exposing enough skin so that he can kiss, suck and bite my neck and shoulders. While he squeezes my breast with one hand, he sneaks the other down to remove his sweats and then palms my center. I whimper when I feel the heat of him pressing against me.

"I want this, and now I'm going to take it. Bend over and spread your legs like a good girl." He lets go of my upper body and presses my head down firmly but carefully, so that my cheek is pressed against the counter. I still keep my hands clasped together above my head and spread my legs wide. He guides himself into my center, groaning with pleasure as he pushes in and I squeeze myself around him. He shifts, so that his one hand is splayed across my back. He presses down on me hard enough to make me feel that he's in control, but not causing me any great discomfort. His other hand clutches my hip.

"Oh, you feel so fucking good. I'm going to use you for my pleasure now, and you'll just have to keep still and take it. Enjoy." I whimper again. How the hell is he coming up with these things to say? I'm completely under his thumb and so turned on that I almost can't see straight as he starts moving. At first, he pumps deliciously slow, taking his time enjoying me. Then he increases his pace, swearing under his breath, going faster and harder. I'm pressed against the counter, but it gives me leverage, too, so that I can meet his thrusts. Wow! It's deep this way. He's able to pull almost all the way out, then give me everything he's got, hitting a sweet spot I've never been able to feel quite like this before.

I'm in sensory overload, but I don't ever want this feeling to stop. I whimper and moan. Hearing my own sounds turns me on even more. Then Edward leans over me. I feel his warm chest covering my back as he palms my center. He pulls on the inside of my thigh to spread me even wider for him. His voice is breathless. "I love feeling you clench around me. You love this, too, I can tell. I can do anything I want to you because you're mine now. Cum for me." He circles my clit and the tingling feeling that has become unbearably stronger, the tension building and building in my abdomen, suddenly peaks. I cum violently, crying unintelligibly into the room, trying to squeeze my legs together to control the waves of pleasure hitting me. He quickly shifts, grabs my hips and slams into me a couple of times before grunting and collapsing over me as his climax hits him.

We keep still for a beat, just breathing. When I make a whining sound, Edward immediately lifts off of me, pulling out. He takes care of the condom with one hand, and brushes my hair out of my face with the other.

"Are you okay, Bella? Did I hurt you for real?" There's concern in his voice. I draw a shaky breath, trying to lift my head enough to shake it.

"I'm fine. I'm just … wiped out. Wow! That was … unbelievable." I straighten up, trying to stand, but feel my legs wobble and sit down abruptly on the floor. Edward sits down, too, and pulls me into his lap, wincing and adjusting himself when his deflating cock gets in the way. I lean into his naked body, taking comfort in the familiar feeling of him, and the equally familiar smell of our lovemaking.

"How did you come up with that, Edward?" I ask quietly. "How did you know what to say? It felt like you turned into a completely different person there for a while." He squeezes me.

"Sorry. Did I scare you? That wasn't my intention." He chuckles. "Well, maybe I wanted to scare you a tiny little bit, but just enough to get your attention, not to get your adrenaline flowing in an unpleasant way."

He looks at me, serious. "How are you feeling? Are you okay? Was it too much?"

I smile, still a bit shaken by the violence of my own reaction. I didn't know I would feel like this, so turned-on and raw, like he exposed all my nerve endings at once.

"I'm fine. A little freaked out, but fine. How about you?" He smiles, a little embarrassed, but with a twinkle in his eye.

"Well, at first I wasn't sure I was going to be able to pull it off. I mean, I kind of respect you too much to even remotely want to manhandle you. But since I haven't been inside you in six days, I guess I found my motivation."

I raise my eyebrows at him. "Eager beaver, huh?"

Edward smirks and pats the top of my behind over my shirt. "You said it, not me." I wrinkle my nose at him. "Shut up, Edward! You're being crude." He leans in and rests his forehead against mine.

"Well, yes, but in the heat of the moment it feels right to say some crude things I wouldn't dream of saying near you otherwise. I think you kind of feel that way too, no?"

I blush. Well, we've already established that I can be comfortable using words like "pussy," "fuck" and "cock" within certain contexts. I guess I'm not going to object if it happens in a similar context another time. Hmm, what about if he tied me to the bed … ? I swallow and clench my thighs automatically. I'll leave that thought for later.

I nod. "Yeah, you're right. As long as it's in the heat of the moment, some things feel perfectly fine. I've just never been comfortable with men using words like "bitch" or "pussy," as if being a woman was a derogatory term in itself." He caresses my cheek, looking thoughtful.

"I would never disrespect you like that, Bella, you know that. And if I ever do or say anything that you think is out of line, I expect you to tell me so, and I'll stand corrected." My mind leaps at the word "corrected," and suddenly I wonder if that teacher-fantasy of his involved any spanking? He's got the most beautiful ass for grabbing and … I stop myself. Edward has never implied that he's into kinky stuff, and I certainly don't think I should be the one to corrupt him. Oh, God, I've become a sex fiend! I scramble to my feet, take one look at the cold, rubbery eggs, and decide to throw them out and start over. I cast an eye at the digital clock on the radio.

"Hey, we should really get going! Why don't you hit the shower while I restart breakfast, and then I can freshen up while you eat?" Edward is picking his sweats up from the floor and throwing the condom away. He straightens up to smile at me, running one hand through his messy hair.

"Anything you say, Bella. This day couldn't get any better now, even if I had to skip breakfast. For all intents and purposes I already had mine, just so you know." He licks his lips suggestively, his eyes on me, and just like that I'm making a puddle in my panties. Wait, my panties are still on the floor! I guess I may have to take that shower before breakfast, not after. Fortunately, Edward disappears to shower, leaving me to pick my panties and the remnants of my sensible personality up off the floor. I am so out of my normal comfort zone here, having sex against the kitchen counter, and yet I've never felt more comfortable with anyone in my life. Maybe that's the key.

After a quick breakfast, Edward puts our bags in the trunk, and we head out of town. The morning traffic is beginning to congest the highways, but I don't really feel stressed out by it. We have the whole day in front of us, and we can adjust our pace to make sure we get to Monterey well before nightfall. Finally, when we reach Highway 1, Edward takes charge of the iPod. He borrowed my laptop the other day to make a playlist for our trip, and I'm surprised at how much I enjoy his eclectic choices; everything from bands I've only heard of, like Arctic Monkeys and Felice Brothers, to U2 and Deep Purple. When The Who is playing, Edward smiles and draws my attention to the speedometer. I realize with horror that I'm cruising just above the speed limit. I quickly lift my foot off the gas and meekly adjust my pace to the legal limit.

"It's funny, some songs seem to make you go over the speed limit, Bella," Edward remarks, amusement in his voice. "Care to comment on that?"

I frown, and cast a look at him. In his sunglasses and a white t-shirt he looks illegally good. If we get pulled over by a female cop, I'll know it's not because of my driving. Just the idea of being the one telling Edward to spread them and put his hands on the hood to frisk him makes me swallow. I quickly bring my thoughts back to the subject at hand. I don't need to tell him _all_ my fantasies, right?

"Good car music makes me want to tap my foot, and when I can't do that I press down on the gas instead, all right? But thank you for pointing that out to me, I don't want to be caught speeding today, or any day, really. My dad is a cop; it would be embarrassing to tell him I got a ticket," I explain.

Edward raises his eyebrows and stretches his long arm out to fiddle briefly with the back of my shirt-collar. His fingers brush my neck and a shiver runs through me at his casual touch. I want to lean into it and away from it at the same time, completely distracted. The man is a traffic accident waiting to happen!

"A cop, huh? Would you like to tell me something more about your dad?" Edward pulls his hand back into his lap, maybe sensing my confused reaction to his touch.

I frown. "I don't know what to say. My parents split up when I was very young, and I didn't see too much of him during my first years since Renee moved around a lot. Then when I was six or seven, Renee thought it would be a good idea if I spent a couple of weeks with him every summer, so I did that for a while, and that was okay. When I was sick of switching schools, I finally put my foot down to Renee. I moved in with my Dad when I was 14 so that I could at least finish high school in the same place."

I shoot a quick look over at Edward. "People say we're sort of alike. You know, the dark, quiet, suffer-in-silence type. Other than that, I don't know. He's a good cop. Conscientious. He likes watching the Mariners' games on TV and goes fishing almost every time he has the weekend off. He's not much of a cook." I've run out of things to say. How can you describe someone who is so taciturn that he makes Jim the cook look outgoing? Charlie isn't distant, he's just not one to hover. He's warm, he's just not, well, cuddly. He thinks the world of me, I'm sure, he just doesn't know how to say it. Still, I don't know how to describe him without making him sound bad.

"Would he approve of me, do you think?" Edward's voice is casual, but I'm not sure if he's joking or not. I shift in my seat, dividing my attention between the road and our conversation.

"Umm, I don't know?" My reply sounds like a question, which I guess it is. "He never really approved of any guy that I've known, and he remained non-committal about James. He doesn't talk much, and he has these bushy eyebrows and a cop mustache, so I guess people tend to find him intimidating on first acquaintance."

Edward chuckles. "Did you bring any boys home to him?"

I blush and bite my lip. Except for that one, disastrous time ... "No." I blurt out. "I didn't actually date in high school, since I was so nerdy and unpopular, so I didn't get the chance to experiment much with Charlie's level of tolerance. I just know that he kept hinting darkly that the slobs in town weren't worthy of my attention. I guess I took his word for it." I turn the music up, and Edward takes this as a sign that I want to concentrate on my driving. We navigate Santa Barbara and stop for a bathroom break and a cup of coffee around Santa Maria. All in all, I'm impatient to reach the more scenic parts of the route, so I press on. Edward asks me politely if I want him to drive, but I thank him and tell him no, equally politely. I don't mind driving, just as long as he doesn't distract me.

By the time we reach the small town of Cambria, we decide to take a lunch break. We leave the car downtown to take a walk and stretch our legs. It's a sunny day, not too hot, but I'm glad I chose to wear shorts and a short-sleeved shirt when I feel the sun on my arms and legs. Edward grabs my hand and holds it the whole time, as if it's the most natural thing in the world, and I realize with a jolt that maybe it is. Maybe this is my new "normal."

We stroll through town looking for a place to eat, but when we don't find any appetizing vegetarian alternatives, we end up ordering sandwiches from a deli to take with us, instead. An hour later, we're at our first vista point, looking out over the crashing waves. We watch the sweep of the coast ahead of us where the road is hugging the mountain side. It's brilliant green and soft browns against the shimmering blue of the sea and the sky.

We eat our sandwiches leaning against the side of the car, with the wind tugging at our hair and clothes. I feel wonderful, and even more so when Edward pulls me in for a hug, kissing my hair and holding me close to his body. "Thank you for taking me with you on this trip, Bella," he says softly into my ear. "It means a lot to me." I hug him back, wordlessly, because my throat feels tight with happiness and I don't think I can tell him how I feel right now.

The rest of the afternoon goes quickly. We stop every mile or so, because I'm like a child on a field trip where finally I'm the one in charge and can decide when to stop the car. Every time I see the sign for a vista point or the entrance to a state park, I just have to stop to explore, or take a photo with my cell phone. Every new vista is more beautiful than the one before it and I keep thinking that this is how I want to live one day – somewhere on a hill between the mountains and the sea!

We walk down to the ocean at one point, on creaking endless wooden stairs that lead us to a beach. The sand is soft as wet, pale silk and goes on forever in both directions. I take off my sandals and walk down to where the waves come gliding over the sand. I let them chase me back and forth, squealing when a big wave takes me by surprise and wets my legs almost up to my shorts.

Edward grins at my antics, but never protests, even though we're moving along at a snail's pace. It's getting late in the afternoon when we reach an intriguing place, a valley cut down sharply in the mountains. There's a river at the bottom of it that is heading for the sea. At a turn of the road, the valley broadens, and there's this rustic place, a house built right above the river, sheltered on all sides by the mountains and surrounded by trees. It looks like a fairytale. I turn to Edward, excited.

"I know it's getting late, but can we just stop here for a minute? It looks so beautiful!"

He smiles at me, and touches my cheek. "You don't think I'm going to say no now, do you? We've got plenty of time to reach Monterey, don't worry." He takes off his glasses, and his eyes are warm and amused as he looks at me intently. I swallow and grip the wheel as I turn the car around, leaving the road.

We park and walk into the lodge. It's all wood, slanted ceilings and an open fire in a big stone fireplace. I'm guessing it's more for show than for warmth at this time of the year. Still, it gives a welcoming feel to the place. A woman in her thirties, dressed in a blouse and skirt, approaches with a smile. "May I help you with anything?"

I shake my head, looking around. "No, we just stopped by because this place looked so inviting. Is this a hotel or a restaurant?" The woman sweeps out with her hand, pointing to her right. "Actually, it's both. The restaurant is through here, and we have rooms for sleeping guests, too. Were you interested in staying the night? We have a few openings." I look over at Edward, who's looking back at me, non-committal. It's clearly up to me, but I think of the room waiting for us in Monterey.

I sigh and shake my head, regretfully. "No, we're heading up to Monterey tonight, so unfortunately we can't stay. But maybe we'll just stop for coffee and look around outside, if you don't mind?"

The woman smiles pleasantly. "Not at all, I understand. Please feel free to take a look around before you leave. The restaurant is open and I know we have banana bread and pecan pie on the menu if you want something more than just coffee." She nods to Edward and walks away. I grab Edward's arm and walk into the restaurant, which has the same feel to it. There are high wooden beams and windows through which the slanting sunlight falls in shafts, the light flickering as it's interrupted by the moving foliage of the tallest trees. Groups of people are having drinks outside on a terrace overlooking the river and the grassy bank below. I pick a table inside where we can enjoy the view through the windows undisturbed.

A young waitress hands us menus, rattling off today's specials. Her big blue eyes never leave Edward, except when I speak directly to her. She reluctantly tears her eyes away from him to take my order, and then smiles at Edward as she collects our menus. She looks over her shoulder twice, and almost trips the second time. I shake my head, unamused. Really!

Edward looks at me with raised eyebrows. "What's wrong? Did you want some banana bread, too?"

I look over at him, skeptically. "You didn't notice the effect you had on our waitress, Edward? She was so hypnotized she almost didn't make it back to the kitchen. I hope she'll be able to stay on her feet long enough to get us our order."

Edward just shakes his head at me. "You're exaggerating. She's probably just a bit inexperienced. She looks like a student." I decide to let it go. He's obviously oblivious to the effect he has on women, and maybe I shouldn't point it out to him; it seems petty. I'll just have to put a brave face on things.

I look around the room. "This looks like a nice place to stay." The water and the trees cool the air in the dell, and there doesn't seem to be much need for air-conditioning. The doors are open, and voices and bird song drifts in from outside. Edward squeezes my hand and I turn back to him. He's smiling.

"I bet this is a place where people like to hold weddings. It's less messy than a beach wedding, yet still close to the ocean. Can you imagine a canopy with white flowers down by the river?"

I'm surprised but I look where he's pointing. Yes, this would be a beautiful place for any kind of celebration, really. I can imagine people in party clothes with champagne flutes drifting back and forth across the grass under the trees. I swallow when I think of my own wedding, a sleek and professional affair in a Chicago hotel designed by a wedding planner. I was just as uncomfortable as Charlie looked in his rented tux. I was the center of attention for hours and felt horribly inadequate to the occasion.

"Have you been to a lot of weddings?" I ask Edward, curious. He shrugs. "A couple, I guess. My adoptive parents had a lot of friends who were younger, and I was a nice kid who didn't complain about being put in a suit. I've carried the ring for the groom and I've played the piano at a reception, and I had to throw petals from a basket at a beach wedding when the wind blew them right back in my face. I spent the night picking petals out of my hair, shaking sand out of my socks, and eating left-over wedding cake with the catering staff because they thought I was cute."

I smile at his description, picturing a small boy with disheveled reddish brown hair sitting in his shirtsleeves and dress pants at a table, barefoot, stuffing his face methodically with frosted cake.

The blue-eyed waitress returns with our order, and manages to brush her arm against Edward's when she serves him coffee. She apologizes, flustered, but I can't help thinking it was deliberate when I see the look in her eyes. Internal eye-roll apart, there's nothing wrong with my tea and Edward's piece of banana bread does look yummy. I lean over and snag a small corner and pop it in my mouth on an impulse. I don't eat cake anymore, but if there's something I love, it's banana bread … and carrot cake … and lemon cheesecake … and hazelnut brownies … oh, hush! I suddenly notice Edward is staring at me, and his eyebrows have almost disappeared into his hairline.

"What? Do I have something on my face?" I ask, flustered.

Edward shakes his head and smiles. "You could just order another piece for yourself, Bella. Actually, it's funny because I used to fight with Alice because she stole food from my plate all the time, yet I don't find it at all irritating when you do it." He sips his coffee and offers his plate of banana bread to me.

I shake my head, then ask him "Who is Alice, and why did she steal the food off your plate?" Another girlfriend he hasn't yet told me about? Edward puts his fork down and it clatters against his plate. His face falls and he visibly pales. I have time to panic and wonder if he's too big for me to haul out to the car because he's experiencing an allergic reaction and needs to go to the hospital. Damn! What's in that banana bread?

He swallows – that's good, it means his windpipe isn't swollen shut, and he's still breathing. "Bella," he says, and his voice is hoarse. "Alice is, she was … my sister." I stare at him.

"_Was_ your sister? So then, did something happen to her? Is she dead?"

Edward leans his head into his hands and draws a deep, shaky breath. "Look, Bella, please don't ask me anything about Alice right now. I swear I want to talk to you about her, just not here and now. Please." His voice is low and urgent, and I know I won't pressure him when he's so obviously distressed. I put out a hand to touch his soft hair.

"It's okay, Edward. Don't worry, we don't have to do anything you don't want to do. Just breathe. Whenever you feel ready to talk about her, I promise you I'll be ready to listen, okay?"

He nods, still unable to look at me, but I think his shoulders lower themselves slightly. Of course, the waitress has to pick this awkward moment to appear and ask if everything's to our liking. Her eyes look as big as saucers when she takes in Edward's expression and the fact that I'm touching him. I pull my hand back and glare at her. "Yes, thank you, we have everything we need. Could you just get us the bill, please?" She skitters off to the kitchen with her tail between her legs like a frightened chipmunk.

I gulp down my tea, and Edward unenthusiastically finishes half of his cake and coffee in silence before the waitress returns, her smile restored. Edward tries to pick up the bill again, but I quickly snatch it away from him with a stern look. "This trip was my idea so I'm paying, and that's final." Edward doesn't look happy about it, but is too polite to make a scene. When we stand up he gives me his hand and then lets me walk ahead of him outside.

We stroll around the property in silence, hand in hand, each wrapped in our own thoughts, before ending up at the touristy store next to the inn. It looks like the kind of new-age place Renee would like, a mixture of old and new, books, trinkets, jewelry and clothes. I'm drawn in by the memory of Renee and afternoons spent following her around to her various places of employment when I was a kid.

The bell above the door tinkles as we walk in. A woman in her thirties with long, wavy brown hair and a flowing purple shirt and skirt smiles a welcome at us from behind the register. Edward wanders off to browse through the selection of books while I end up looking at some antique jewelry. I decide to buy a silver ring with a moonstone that fits my right hand finger perfectly.

The woman who works in the store is called Rita. She is chatty and nice and seems quite knowledgeable about the jewelry she sells. She tells me the ring was made in the 1920s and has an inscription that looks like it was used as an engagement ring. I look inside it. The initials RM are followed by the word "Forever" in slanting script and the numbers 20 6 20. A nice little mystery, indeed. While she wraps it up, I look over at Edward, who is engrossed in some big coffee table book. I walk up behind him and lean against his arm, which he immediately wraps around me while slowly turning the pages.

It's a book of photographs by Sally Mann, gorgeous but slightly disturbing black-and-white photos of half-naked children communing with nature. They're bathing in a river surrounded by trees draped with hanging moss and moving through overgrown grass interspersed with flowers. I've seen some of these photos before, and found them weirdly beautiful. Somehow, they make me think of death, as if the beautiful, languid, enigmatic children were ghosts, manifestations from another dimension. I bury my face in Edward's shirt and take a whiff of his comforting smell, murmuring into his chest, "Hey, I'm done. I just want to visit the bathroom before we leave. How about you?"

Edward kisses the top of my head briefly and nods. "I'll be right out, Bella. Meet you at the car in five minutes?"

"Okay. See you there." I give his arm a little squeeze before ducking under it and leaving the store. My tiny package is tucked deep into the bottom of my purse.

Ten minutes later, I'm standing by the car listening to my iPod with my eyes closed when Edward wraps his arms around me, pulls my earplug out and nuzzles my cheek. "Hey, beautiful. Are you sure you won't let me drive? Aren't you tired?" I smile and kiss him. He tastes sweet, and I immediately want more. I plunge my tongue into his delicious mouth, then regret it when I feel his enthusiastic response. Hmmm, maybe this was a mistake? To avoid humping his leg, I slowly disentangle myself from him when the kiss turns heated. He takes his cue from me, and lets me go, but not before I see how his eyes have turned dark with desire. It's lucky that we're only a couple of hours away from our destination.

"I'm okay to drive," I tell him, straightening my bra, that has slipped when my breasts started throwing themselves at Edward. I'm kidding! I frown. My bra is just not a good fit anymore. "Did you find anything?" I point to the little bag in his hand.

"Oh, you mean this? I found a book that seemed perfect for a road trip. It literally fits in my shirt pocket." He pulls out the smallest book I think I've ever seen, Just over two inches square. It's a collection of poetry, "Selected Poems by Emily Dickinson," and it's a beautiful edition. I leaf through it, reverently. "Have you read her poetry before?" I ask.

Edward makes a non-committal sound. "I read some of her stuff in school, but other than that, no. Thought it might be good to read, though. What with her being a classic author and all."

I smile and ruffle his hair as I hand the book back. "Yeah, and with you being a straight-A student and all," I tease him.

As we drive away I give the lodge one last look in the rearview mirror. There's something about the place that pulls me in, as if I've been here before or seen it in a dream. I shake my head at myself. If Renee was here she'd probably tell me it was proof of reincarnation. Oh, well, I have the ring as a memory and one day I may come back. Now it's time to chase the sundown!

* * *

**A/N: I hope everyone have fastened their seatbelts, because this trip may turn out to be a somewhat bumpy ride ... (Incidentally, is there anyone besides me out there who appreciates Emily Dickinson's poetry?) Thank you for reading, and please let me know what you think if you have the time!**


	36. Chapter 36

**A/N: Disclaimer - Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. My dear beta, Trekgeezer, was prevented by circumstances beyond her control to finish work on this chapter in time for publication, so here goes nothing. My apologies to one and all – everything is my fault! ;-) Thank you for reading!**

* * *

_Today is gonna be the day  
That they're gonna throw it back to you  
By now you should've somehow  
Realized what you gotta do  
I don't believe that anybody  
Feels the way I do about you now_

_Back beat, the word was on the street_  
_That the fire in your heart is out_  
_I'm sure you've heard it all before_  
_But you never really had a doubt_  
_I don't believe that anybody_  
_Feels the way I do about you now_

_And all the roads we have to walk are winding_  
_And all the lights that lead us there are blinding_  
_There are many things that I_  
_Would like to say to you but I don't know how_

_Because maybe, you're gonna be the one that saves me_  
_And after all, you're my wonderwall_

Oasis: Wonderwall

* * *

**Chapter 36**

**BPOV**

We stop at another couple of vista points to watch the sun sinking towards the ocean, the shadows growing longer. It's incredibly beautiful and I clutch Edward's hand in mine, reminding myself that this is real, that we are really here, together. He is quiet, more so than before, but I tell myself that he has a lot on his mind and has had a long week. We finally drive on, because I don't want to be caught on winding roads I'm not familiar with in the dark, and we see the sunset blooming across the sky from inside the car.

As we drive into Monterey, twilight envelops us and Edward uses my iPhone to find the Travelodge I booked us into, just outside the city center. We park in front of the building and walk into the spacious lobby to get our keys. After I check us in, Edward carries our bags to our room. As we cross the courtyard which has a green lawn, some trees and a swimming pool, Edward nods towards the pool.

"Want to go for a swim with me later?" I look at him, surprised.

"I didn't bring a bathing suit with me. I didn't think we'd have time for that." I pause, then ask, "We live right by the ocean, but you've never asked me that before – how come?"

Edward doesn't reply at first and waits while I open the door to our room and stand aside to let him in. Once he's dumped the bags on the floor he turns to me and pulls his hands through his hair, making it stand on end, smiling and stretching like a cat - or maybe a puma.

"I never thought swimming in the ocean would be much fun for you – it's always colder than you'd think, and the waves can be intimidating. But if you enjoy swimming we can, as often as you like. I wouldn't mind seeing you in a bikini, Bella." His smirk is suggestive, but I blush and shrug it off. _Not going to happen, mister_. I decide to change the subject.

"Do you want to freshen up before we go grab a bite to eat? Aren't you hungry?" My stomach is growling, but in my book it's almost too late in the day to eat. Maybe I'll just have a snack. Edward moves sinuously and before I know it, he's pulled me into his embrace and propels me towards the king-sized bed. I land on my back with a surprised squeal and Edward hovers above me, one leg slung across my body and his hand in my hair. The bed is soft, the pillows piled up on it are like a white cloud and suddenly I feel how tired I am. Hmmm, bed.

"I'm hungry, but more for you than for food. How about you?" Edward's voice is soft and so is his smile. My stomach growls loudly in response and he laughs and rolls over on his back.

"I guess that's my answer. Okay, let's go now, we can shower later!" He pulls me to my feet, and I barely have time to retrieve my purse and the key cards before he takes my hand again and whisks me with him out of the room.

I stop briefly at the desk to ask if there are any restaurants nearby, and the concierge recommends an Italian place that's only a few minutes' walk down the road. We walk quickly in the dark, cars whooshing past us on the road, because we can see the sign shining ahead of us, "La Bella Italia."

It's a simple place, the guests are mostly families with children and elderly couples and the waitress is a woman in her sixties who seems to know most of the customers; at least she gives that impression. She seats us in a booth and gives us menus, and is back with ice water to take our order in no time at all. I'm favorably impressed by her efficiency and warm manner. After settling for a Pasta Marinara (Edward) and a tomato salad (me) we relax in our seats and sip the water.

"I don't know if we should take time to wait around for the Aquarium to open in the morning, I've read that it's supposed to be one of the main attractions here," I say, more to make conversation than anything else. "Would you rather have more time in San Francisco or here? I have an appointment with Shirley Cope at 4 p.m. but we shouldn't have any problems making it to Berkeley before then."

Edward shrugs. "I've seen aquariums in other places, so it's not something I need to see here. Why don't we start early and take our time driving up to San Francisco? Then we can decide on what to do when we get there and see what time it is. What do you need to do while we're there? I'm merely along for the ride, you know." He smiles at me and, tired as I am, his handsome face still has the power to pull me out of a slump. I sit up straight and smile right back at him.

"Well, the only other thing I've planned is to check on the stuff I've put in storage to see if there's anything I'd like to take with me to England. I think I have a couple of books and journals I would like to look through again for ideas. We can do that before we leave on Friday, though, so Thursday night and most of Friday we can go sightseeing if you want. Have you been to San Francisco before?"

Edward shakes his head. "No, I've seen very little of the Pacific Coast. What kind of journals do you mean? Did you use to keep a diary?" His eyes express a keen interest, and I wonder if this is something he's done himself.

I take a sip of my water to think my reply through, "Well, yes and no. I've always enjoyed writing, and I usually keep a journal where I jot down all kinds of stuff; observations, ideas, references to books I'm reading, quotations, the weather, situations or events I'd like to remember. It's too jumbled to be called a diary, but it usually gives a fair representation of my life and thoughts at any given time in my life." I pick up a breadstick and unwrap it from the crackly paper, mostly to have something to do with my hands. Edward's eyes are so intense they make me nervous.

"Nowadays, mostly I keep everything on my computer. It's easier, and feels more private. Anyone can pick up a journal and read it. That's why I've locked all my old ones away." I remember when James read my journal once, and how livid we both were: I because of the intrusion, he because of what he'd found.

"_Why the hell do you write this stuff in your journal, Bella? You should be talking to me about it instead? Why won't you tell me what's on your mind? I'm your husband, for fuck's sake!"_

"_Oh, shut up, James! I don't think you're in any position to act self-righteous. You're the one who's read my private journal! These are things that I've written for my eyes only, things that you of course decide to take completely out of context and twist around to use as a weapon against me. And then you have the nerve to ask why I don't tell you what's on my mind! Let me tell you why; one, because you're usually not the least bit interested. Two, because you're hardly ever around when I want to talk. Three, because my thoughts are none of your goddamned business just because we're married, and, four, you paid a therapist to see me, because you told me yourself and I quote, ' it was better if we didn't talk about the things that upset me, since that just wound me up pointlessly'."_

_James stared at me, his mouth a thin, hard line in his pale face. Ominously quiet for a moment, then his voice came out as a hissing whisper, "I said that, didn't I?" And then he threw my journal down on the floor and walked right out of the house, the slam of the front door shortly followed by the roar of his car bursting out of the garage. _

He came back late that night, after I'd gone to bed, and left early the next morning. We didn't speak until the next evening. Then, he came home with some expensive flowers and made me a cool, formal apology, which I accepted equally coolly. I didn't think that any one of us had really changed our minds, but we never mentioned the matter again. I started hiding all my old journals, locking them away in my office, and James tried to demonstrate his interest in me for the next few months by making a point of asking me how my day was whenever we sat down to dinner together. To me, it always reminded me more of my dad asking me about my grades than my husband taking an active interest in my life.

And that's also when I started writing my journal entries on my computer, and keeping them on a separate hard drive that I could either lock inside the desk in my office at work or carry with me. I became more wary and my life became even more compartmentalized, with secret walls shielding the thoughts and feelings I needed to hide, sometimes even from myself.

"What about you, do you keep a journal? I didn't think that was a guy thing," I ask. Edward looks at the small pile of crumbles on the table beneath my hands, where the breadstick now rests in peace, and smiles to himself.

"What? You never heard of Samuel Pepys, Bella? All famous diaries were written by men!" I frown at him, but I know he's just teasing me.

"So, you did keep a diary?" I insist. Edward shrugs, and looks up at me through his lashes, his eyes incredibly green in the lamplight. He seems shy.

"Well, it wasn't much, but I did keep a sort of journal when I was a kid. I didn't have a lot of friends and I found that writing about things that troubled me made them seem less troubling. If you've tried it, you know what I mean. Putting words to your thoughts sometimes gives you a handle on what's happening. But when I got older, I stopped. I guess I wasn't so interested in introspection anymore."

"Maybe you became a man of action," I suggest with a smile.

Edward snorts. "Yeah, right! You make it sound like I'm the hero when it was the other way around. That's when I really started screwing up." He rubs the back of his neck, his eyes downcast. I reach out and squeeze his other hand resting on the tablecloth.

"In my story, you're the hero Edward," I say, "just so you know."

We're interrupted by the arrival of our food. Edward looks up and smiles his thanks at our waitress, whose eyes widen a fraction at the impact. She's never experienced the full force of his smile before and I'm left feeling amused and resigned. If Edward should ever be let loose on the wider world of women, the reaction will be so great he probably won't know what hit him.

I briefly try to imagine Edward as a reporter on Fox News or the leader of a boy band as I pick through my tomato and mozzarella salad and force myself to eat slowly and chew carefully. Putting that face on national television would probably be considered a credible threat by Homeland Security. I smile and look at Edward who is wolfing his pasta down, then checking himself and slowing down with an apologetic smirk in my direction. He's such a boy sometimes.

We decline the offer of dessert, and I insist on paying again. Edward accepts graciously, and I am acutely grateful that he lets me have my way without sulking. As we walk back to the hotel I think about the difference between Edward and James yet again. In a way it's as if Edward is helping me unite different parts of me that were always kept apart before. He lets me be myself.

There was always a glaring difference between the rules I abided by at work and at home, a difference that I sometimes found difficult to adapt to. Around James I was always careful to let him play the man of the house. I let him be the one to suggest changes, make plans, pay bills and give me gifts. I never opened my own car doors or tried to pick up checks in his company, because I knew it irritated him. Even when I picked up a napkin that had fallen to the floor in a restaurant, instead of alerting a waiter to do it for me or bring me a new one, he disapproved.

At work, though, I was just a colleague among colleagues, getting my own lunch, holding my own doors and driving my points home in staff meetings and academic discussions. I never had any real trouble interacting with male teachers and students because I felt secure in my own professional role and how they perceived me.

Now, out in the world on my own after my temporary mental breakdown, it has been a different story. Which may be why I've been so insecure and defensive around someone like Tony – I just don't know what he expects of me, and it's easy for me to assume that his flirting is somehow his way of making fun of me. I've only ever had geek guys for friends, and he's so far out of my realm of experience that I can't read him. Edward is the one, glaring exception to the rule of my life; someone uncommonly attractive who notices me, yet is not out to mock me or change me.

Edward takes my hand and quickens his pace as we reach the hotel. "What's the hurry?" I ask, surprised. He raises his eyebrows at me. "Bella, the pool closes in an hour, but we still have time for that swim."

I just roll my eyes at him. "Edward, if you think for a moment that I'm going to go skinny dipping with you in public, you're delusional. I'll watch while you take your shower, though, if you want," I add playfully. "Seeing as how that was such a big success last time we tried it." I unlock the door, and let Edward push me gently into the room.

He shakes his head at me. "Bella, have a little faith in me. Would I ever want to share you in all your naked glory with anyone?" He gestures to the bathroom. "Do you need to use the bathroom? You can go first if you want."

I shrug. Since we're probably going to do nothing more exciting than watching a movie before going to sleep, or hopefully, not sleeping so much, I think a shower and some sleepwear is in order. "Sure, let me get my stuff and give me ten minutes?"

Edward lounges on the bed and turns the TV on, while I lock myself in the bathroom, shower, shave and brush my teeth. When I walk through the bathroom door, I stop in my tracks, surprised. Edward is sitting in an armchair across the room, watching me. Anticipation and nervous excitement is written all over his face. On the bed, right before my eyes, sits a box in pretty wrapping.

I hesitate. "Eh, is this for me?"

Edward nods, never taking his eyes off me. Now I feel nervous, too. I put my folded clothes away and sit down carefully on the bed, hesitantly picking up the package. As I start pulling slowly on the ribbons, Edward says, "Don't take all night, Bella." I frown and rip the paper off. Oh. Victoria's Secret. This is probably bad, but I open the box. Inside is a swimsuit. I lift it up and hold it out in front of me. It's dark blue, a conservative cut, but looks nice.

"Try it on, Bella." Edward is looking at me, earnest. Then he retrieves something from his bag and walks over to where I'm still sitting on the bed, hesitating. He's brought my silk robe. He knows how much I like to be covered up, and this is something I need if I'm to get up the nerve to walk to the pool in swimwear. He leaves the robe on the bed and cups my cheek with his warm hand.

"I have fond memories of that robe," he says. "I'd like to get the chance to take it off you." I swallow.

"Okay," Edward continues, his voice firm, "I'm going to go take a quick shower and when I come out again, I expect you to be wearing that swimsuit, ready to accompany me for a short swim before the pool closes for the night." He lifts my chin, and I meet his eyes. They are warm, filled with affection and a little anxious.

I smile and nod. "Sure. I get it."

As soon as he's closed the door to the bathroom and I hear the shower running, I whip off my t-shirt and sleep shorts and quickly pull the swimsuit on. The floor-length mirror in the hall is unforgiving, but I force myself to look. Well, it's not a complete disaster. My fat thighs and arms are on display, but the cut makes my cleavage looks nice, and even if my hips are broad, they give my body a nice, feminine curve. The dark, stretchy material of the swimsuit actually holds my stomach in place.

I straighten up, draw a deep breath and tell myself not to be a coward. I can do this, for Edward. He's been opening up to me, lowering his defenses. The least I can do is to try to come out from behind the walls I've put up between myself and the world. I need to try and beat down the churning conviction deep down inside that if he really saw me, noticed the way I look, he, too, would turn away. This will be fine. It's not as if I'll expose myself to a packed beach in broad daylight. It's late, very few people are around, and I'll take my robe off right before I jump into the water.

When he comes out, with a towel wrapped around his waist, I'm ready. I quickly walk up to him, hug him close and give him a kiss. "Thank you, Edward. That was really sweet of you, and you shouldn't buy me presents." He stops my tirade with another kiss.

"I told you, I want to give you presents when I can. You don't have to say anything. Just smile, Bella, that's all I ask. Your smile is the most beautiful thing I know." He frowns. "Maybe your face when you come is the _most_ beautiful thing, now that I think of it." I slap his thigh, and he smirks at me. "But your smile right now is a close second. Come on! Get your towel and the keys. Hurry up!"

We half run through the hallway and into the courtyard, holding hands like kids on the run from the grownups. I'm breathless with a mix of anticipation and giggles. Outside, the sky is black and the evening air feels balmy. It's late and Edward is right: no one is lounging by the pool at this hour. As we slip through the gate the stones are cool under the soles of my feet that make a slapping noise. The sound of our footsteps echoes softly but distinctly across the courtyard. The water of the pool is clear blue and lit up from below, throwing white reflexes of light in my face as the surface moves, lapping against the sides. Edward throws his towel onto one of the plastic chairs by the poolside and, without hesitation, dives head first into the water. I slip out of my robe, leave it with my towel on a chair, and quickly jump, feet first, so I won't have time to feel self-conscious standing around in my swimsuit.

When I surface and push wet strands of hair out of my face, Edward is right in front of me, treading water. His smile is radiant and I feel his arms circling around my waist, pulling me flush against him. Instinctively, I lift my legs around his body and put my arms around his neck, clutching on to him for dear life as he kisses me. It's really hard to kiss and stay afloat in the water, but his urgent, warm mouth on mine is irresistible. He pulls me up onto the front of his body and starts swimming on his back pushing off with his legs, long, powerful strokes that bring us quickly to the other side of the pool, where the water is shallow. We sink down, still entwined, and his eager fingers find their way underneath my swimsuit. I pull away, breathless and grip his straying hand.

"Hey, slow down!" I kiss the palm of his hand before dropping it, to soften my words. "If you keep that up we'll be doing the pool scene from "Showgirls" all over again before we know it. I'm sure they would throw us out of the hotel if we did."

Edward looks chastised, but he still palms my behind firmly on top of the swimsuit and nips at my neck and ear with his lips. His voice is low and husky when he speaks and his breath is hot on my skin. "Being in a car with you all day is torture, Bella. I'm so close to you and the car is filled with your fragrance, but I can't touch you." He kisses along my jawline, which makes me shudder, then looks into my eyes, serious. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, but you look fantastic in that swimsuit and I just needed to show you my appreciation. I'm glad you accepted my gift."

I caress his face, brushing my thumb across his lips, and when he sucks it into his mouth and bites down gently on the pad, it sends an electric bolt straight to my center. Lucky we're already wet or I would probably be embarrassed by the physical evidence on my swimsuit. I disentangle myself from him, and carefully pull my hand away from his lovely mouth. "Let's go for a swim."

The swimming pool isn't large, but since we're alone there's plenty of room and we swim laps for twenty minutes, meeting in the middle. I do breast strokes, while Edward seems to be an expert at crawling, going at about twice the speed that I can manage. When I feel out of breath, I finally stop to admire his fluent movements and the ripple of muscles across his smooth back that I glimpse as he turns. I relax and float on my back, watching the starlit sky, faintly visible beyond the lights of the hotel and the nearby town. Swimming at night is a completely different experience from going to the beach in the daytime. I feel at peace, floating between dark sky and blue water, mindlessly letting cool waves carry me as if I weigh nothing at all.

My peaceful moment ends when Edward pulls up behind me, gathering me in his arms and kissing my shoulder as I fumble for my footing on the slippery pool floor. "Ready to go?" he asks me and I nod as his strong arms squeeze around my waist, pulling me towards the side of the pool. Edward of course exits the pool by pulling himself up in a splash of water and effortlessly gets to his feet, while I opt for the safer way of climbing the ladder. I hurry to wrap myself in my towel, squeezing the water out of my ponytail, while Edward stands there like a young god, rubbing his arms and chest with the towel, pushing his wet hair out of his eyes. The mere sight of him is enough to make me long for bed.

I think he can read my mind, because the smirk he sends my way makes my face heat up. Actually, I don't think I would mind enacting the pool scene from "Showgirls" with Edward, as long as we were doing it in a private pool. I wrap the silk robe on top of the towel to keep from dripping water on the hotel carpet as we make our way back to our room. Once inside, Edward gently propels me ahead of him into the bathroom, then whips his bathing trunks off and steps into the shower without preliminaries, completely unselfconscious. I peel off my damp robe and hang up the towel, but draw the line at getting naked in the shower with Edward in front of the huge bathroom mirror.

Edward seems to understand why I'm hovering by the sink. He doesn't comment, just leaves the hot water running as he steps out of the shower, picks up his towel and heads for the door. "It's all yours, Bella. Just don't take too long." He fires off a smile before wrapping the towel around his waist, his wet chest glistening with silver drops of water. I swallow and quickly lock the door behind him, before peeling the wet suit off and stepping under the blissfully hot stream of water. I wash all the chlorine out of my hair and, closing my eyes, I recall the image of the naked Adonis that just walked out the door.

Once I'm done, and have hung all the damp towels and swimming gear up to dry, I wrap the robe around me, feeling the wet silk stick to my skin as I exit the bathroom – only to stop on the doorstep. Edward is lying on the bed, the lights are low and there's faint music coming from the radio. Two parcels rest on my side of the bed – from Victoria's Secret again. I draw a steadying breath and look over at Edward, who is watching me, his eyes dark in the twilight, the hint of a smile curling his lips.

"Come on, Bella, open them. They won't bite." His voice is gently mocking me, and I shake my head ruefully as I sit down on the bed and pick up the first parcel. He rolls over so that he can watch me, resting his head on his arms, as I unwrap it and remove the lid. Carefully, I lift up what's inside. It's a set of bra and panties, dark blue, lacy and pretty. I hold them up, doubtfully. It looks as if they might possibly fit me – the panties are boy shorts but they aren't cut too low, and have a forgiving hem of lace, the bra is a push-up but looks sturdy. I look over at Edward and smile shyly. "Thank you. They're beautiful."

He just smiles and nods at the other parcel. "Go on. You're not done yet."

I sigh and pick up the other parcel, after carefully replacing the lingerie in the box. This time, it's a black nightgown, lacy and practically see-through. I knit my brows. I don't know if I'll feel comfortable wearing this. Maybe when the lights are low and ... I look at Edward. "You want me to try these on, now?" I ask, but I already know the answer.

He nods. "Will you please, Bella? For me?" How can I resist him when he gives me puppy dog-eyes like that? I shrug, and pick up my gifts, retreating to the bathroom again.

"Okay, but no peeking! Close your eyes until I tell you to look," I admonish him, and his low laugh follows me behind the closing door.

"Whatever you say, Bella!"

Alone once again, I get naked and slip into the panties first. Then, I find the hooks on the bra and adjust the straps. The size is a little snug, but it doesn't cut uncomfortably into my ample flesh. I brace myself and face the mirror. I still don't like my flabby stomach and the boy shorts are cut a little bit higher than I like over my behind exposing a bit of my ass cheeks, but the lace border helps distract the eye. My breasts do look bigger in this bra, soft and round, swelling enticingly out of the lacy material. Yes, I think they might hold Edward's attention!

With a shaky sigh I pull the nightgown over my head on top of the underwear. This way, I don't feel as exposed, and the bra and panties actually look sexier beneath the mysterious smoky layer of thin black material, intricately worked through with a lacy pattern. Without the bra and panties, though, I think I would look downright indecent - and not necessarily in a good way. I frown.

I turn out the light in the bathroom, before hesitantly stepping out into the bedroom. Strange shadows climb on the ceiling and everything has a dreamlike quality. Edward is waiting for me and his eyes seem to glitter with a light of their own as he turns his whole body towards me. I stop for a moment, holding myself still, trying not to fidget or strike an unnatural pose. Then Edward holds his hand out to me.

"Come here please, Bella."

His voice is low and rough with some kind of emotion. I climb on the bed and kneel beside him, taking his offered hand. He sits up, and with his free hand he traces the outline of my face, then my neck and shoulder, his fingers running a trail of fire over my breast and stomach, before coming to rest on my thigh. He shakes his head, and I can't help but wonder what he's thinking. Is he pleased? Was this a mistake? Do I look silly to him?

"Bella, you're so beautiful right now, I wish I could take a picture and show the world." I squirm, and open my mouth to protest, but he shushes me.

"Ssshh, no, don't say a word." Before I know it, he's on his knees in front of me, running his hands through my damp hair, brushing his thumbs across my cheekbones.

"You're the most beautiful woman I've ever known, and I just want to worship you. Will you let me do that, Bella?" His voice is soft, and yet it's as if the sound of it reverberates in my bones and shakes me to the core of my being. His green eyes look almost golden in the faint lamplight and I see so much adoration there that I feel a lump in my throat from intense emotion. I lick my lips and nod, honestly speechless for once.

And that night, in a motel room surrounded by invisible strangers, under a black sky where the stars roll soundlessly as the hours pass, he worships me. And like an idol I crash down in his arms, only to be resurrected again and again.

When I finally drift off to sleep in the hours before daybreak, oddly enough I remember a line from the cheesiest of movies, "Pretty Woman." Richard Gere asks Julia Roberts what happens after the knight comes riding on the white horse to rescue the damsel, and she replies "Then she rescues him right back." Even though our roles seem reversed, I vaguely realize that this is exactly what I wish for. Edward seems to have rescued me. Now I want to rescue him right back. With his arms wrapped tightly around me, at last I let sleep pull me out like a long, black wave.

* * *

**A/N: Some of you have asked me what Bella **_**really**_** looks like, and why she is so hard on herself. As we're shifting between Edward's and Bella's point of view, we see the world through their eyes. If their perspective is skewered, so is ours. It's up to you as reader to make your mind up about what you perceive as the truth. And to be honest; do you think that you see yourself exactly the way other people perceive you? It's something I've had reason to think about. Hm, we're now approaching San Francisco, only one more stop to go. Please tell me what you think if you can!**


	37. Chapter 37

**A/N: Disclaimer - Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. This chapter unfortunately has also had to remain un-betad, but I'm hoping that you'll be patient with me! If there are those among you with experiences of losing a child, this might be a little rough to read, so be warned. If you haven't heard Jens Lekman's song "Your arms around me", you should. It's beautiful...**

* * *

_From your mouth speaks your lovely voice_

_The softest words ever spoken_

"_What's broken can always be fixed_

_What's fixed will always be broken"_

_You put your arms around me_

_You put your arms around me_

Jens Lekman: Your arms around me

* * *

**Chapter 37**

**EPOV **

I slip out of bed before Bella wakes and return with breakfast. When I walk in, she still lies tangled in the sheets with her dark hair twisted around her head and splayed across the pillow. Her face is soft with sleep. I crank the curtains open just a bit before settling on the bed behind her to wake her with kisses. She grumbles and whines, but smiles and scoots back to press herself further into my arms when I blow on her neck and nudge her cheek playfully with my nose.

"It's after nine o'clock, Bella. It's time to rise and shine. I've got your morning tea right here for you. Do you want to have breakfast in bed?" She nods sleepily, turns and yawns, peering up at me with eyes that are slightly puffy and pillow wrinkles on her cheek. She's adorable like this, and I grin down at her. "Or, you know what, forget breakfast. We'll just stay in bed all day instead." She shakes her head and pouts.

"No, no, no, don't tempt me. I'm up, just give me a little space and I'll be ready to go in no time." I lean back, and she drags the sheet from the bed, making an improvised wrap dress that trails behind her as she stumbles to the bathroom. It's cute that she's still shy in the mornings. At least she slept naked with me last night. I sigh and lie back on the bed, staring up into the ceiling.

Last night was amazing. Bella looked so good in that bathing suit, and when she walked out of the bathroom in the lingerie I bought her my heart almost stopped and I got hard just from watching her. Making love to her in - and without - those flimsy pieces of lace made some of the most exciting moments I've had in bed. She's never been that shameless before. Seeing her face in the golden lamplight as she came beneath me made me feel like the king of the world.

While she's in the bathroom I pick up our stuff and start packing the few things I left lying about yesterday. I smile when I find the black lace nightgown crumpled at the foot of the bed, and I carefully fold it and put it in Bella's bag. That will _definitely_ get a repeat performance. She comes out wrapped in a towel, carrying her bag of toiletries and finds me picking up the blue bra and panty set from the floor where I must have thrown them last night. She blushes as I hand them to her.

"Why don't you put these on? You didn't get much chance to wear them yesterday, after all." I smirk at her, and she takes them, quickly turns around, drops the towel, and scrambles into her panties and bra with her back to me. The sight of her creamy white behind is almost enough to make me pounce on her, but instead I politely turn my back and pat my jeans to make sure I have my wallet with me, then pick up my coffee. When I turn back, Bella is buttoning on the long dress I gave her, and it gives me a strange, proud sense of ownership seeing her in something I bought her. She's mine. Well, at least for all intents and purposes and at least for this trip.

She gratefully accepts her tea, nibbles half a blueberry muffin, then greedily digs into the apple I brought for her.

"We really should get going," she says, as she finishes her breakfast and fishes her toothbrush out of her bag, "the sooner we get to San Francisco, the more time I'll have to show you the town." I follow her into the bathroom, watching her in the mirror while she cleans up.

"As long as we're together, it's fine," I reply. "I don't mind taking my time on the road with you either. Should we bring something for a picnic, in case we find some nice place to stop?" She nods, finding my eyes in the mirror.

"Yes, that's an excellent idea. Let's make a quick stop at a store on the way before we leave town." She turns to me and gives me a minty kiss, but slides out of my grasp before I can deepen the kiss into something more serious, smiling over her shoulder at me and my greedy hands. I take the bags to the car while Bella settles our bill and soon we're on the road again.

It's another pretty summer day, the sun already high in the sky with white wisps of cloud moving quickly to a wind we can't feel down below. The road winds out of town, and soon it's one breathtaking vista after another again. The highway hugs the mountain side and the blue-green swell of the ocean beats against cliffs of black and brown, lacy white foam shooting up into the air where the waves hit the shore. We stop repeatedly to look at the view, and Bella takes pictures with her phone.

A couple of hours later, I suggest we start winding in across the mountain to get a look at one of the national parks before we hit the highway into the Bay area. We're soon surrounded by trees, some redwoods, pine trees, and when the view opens up we see green meadows that remind me of pictures I've seen from Switzerland. There are houses here and there, but mostly it's just us and a car or two that we meet, going down. I try to follow our route on the map, even if the roads are narrow and a bit confusing. Finally, I see the sign I was looking for and tell Bella to turn off. It's almost noon, and the sun is high in the sky.

We park the car in the designated parking lot for visitors and I get the food we bought out of the car, together with a blanket. After looking around we find a trail leading up towards a vista point. High grass is blowing in the wind on the hill, and there are orange poppies growing everywhere, white butterflies fluttering about them here and there. I see a flash of red as a bird streaks past us, disappearing into the trees. The sun is hot, but the wind makes the day pleasant, the bird song a backdrop to the crickets' loud chirping.

I point out the signs on the side of the path to Bella, warning visitors about pumas and marihuana growers guarding their crop, who may or may not be armed. The advice seems to be one and the same: if you meet one, back off slowly and retain eye contact. Although it's unsettling to contemplate meeting armed men or wild animals out here, I still smile to myself. I guess if you did meet with danger you'd be too flustered to remember the advice, and it probably wouldn't do you any good anyway.

The view is incredible. On one side you can see the forested mountain side sloping up away from us, around us is the valley of grassland, surrounded by trees. A small lake glints further down, which is where I guess the recreation area would be.

"Where would you like us to have our picnic, Bella?"

Bella shields her eyes from the sun, and points out a portion of the meadow below us that is closer to the trees, partly shaded by a single tree venturing out into the clearing on its own.

"How about there? If it gets too hot we can retreat to the tree-line to get in the deeper shade?"

I take her hand and walk ahead of her, wading downhill through the pale grass. I vaguely think about snakes, and take care to stomp my feet hard as I walk, since Bella's wearing nothing but sandals on her feet. The flowers are beautiful, and when I look back at her, so is she, smiling at the meadow and the trees, her long, dark skirt tangling in her legs as she makes her way down. Tiny insects rise in iridescent clouds from the grass where we walk, and floating pollen sparkles like specks of gold in the sunshine.

When we get down by the tree, I let go of her hand and together we spread the blanket, pressing the grass down to make a soft mattress to sit on. Bella kicks off her sandals, and I follow suit. It feels like freedom, standing barefoot on the grass, alone under the wide blue sky with the day unfolding in front of us. I love the smell of warm vegetation that is rising out of the ground like a wave of heat. It reminds me of Bella's heat rising against my skin. Distracted by the memory I look down at Bella who is busy unpacking our stash of food; fruit, bread, cheese, water and wine. She insisted that we get half a roast chicken for me, and I didn't object. I sit down and hastily unwrap a chicken leg and start tearing at the meat with my teeth right away, because my stomach is growling. Bella grins at me and I grin right back at her. "What?" I ask, but she just shakes her head at me.

"Nothing. I just love your appetite for life, that's all." I groan, and lie back on the blanket, still chewing and enjoying the crispy salt taste of the chicken skin. Now it's Bella's turn to ask me, "What?" I shake my head, swallowing and peering up at her, sun reflexes almost blinding me.

"Nothing, you just reminded me of all the other things I'm hungry for, darling." Bella raises an eyebrow at me as she pops a grape into her mouth.

"Seriously? Is that another fantasy of yours, then? You want to make love in the freedom of the great outdoors." I wipe my fingers on a paper napkin and help myself to some bread.

"Well, having sex in public is a pretty common fantasy. You've never had it?" I look over to catch her smiling as she assembles some tomatoes, cheese and bread to make a sandwich.

"No, I can't say that I have. If I ever fantasized about having sex in public it was more about being indoors, but where someone walking by could see you, like in front of a window or in the back of a bus."

I close my eyes and chew, thinking of that for a minute. Images of myself, pressing naked Bella up against a picture window, taking her from behind. Bella bouncing on my lap in the back of a Greyhound, her open dress pooling around her waist as I squeeze her tits. Hmm, I could probably get off to those images without problems. I adjust myself slightly, and decide that this isn't where our picnic should be going. Having actual sex outdoors would probably be buggy, uncomfortable and not a good idea, in case we should get interrupted by pumas or armed men. Bella pours me some Cabernet Sauvignon in a plastic cup and passes me a water bottle, and I enjoy the fruity, slightly tart taste of the wine on my tongue before I drain half of the water.

After we've finished eating, we carefully collect the remains of our meal and the garbage and put it in a bag to take with us, so as not to attract animals or spoil this pretty spot with litter. Then we just stretch out on the blanket to rest for a moment, Bella's head resting on my chest and her arm across my stomach as she snuggles into my side. I feel her own flowery scent mixing with the smell of the meadow, and I feel a deep peace settling inside me.

The sun is shining through the leaves and dappling us with shadows, enough to warm us without burning us. When I look down at Bella I start tracing the shadow patterns on her skin lazily with my fingertips. My fingers push at the sleeves of her dress, which are already riding up high, and I feel the slightly different texture of the skin of her upper arms. I shift so that I can put Bella's head down on the blanket, and she looks up at me, confused and a little sleepy.

"Ssshh," I say, "I just want to touch you, okay?" She smiles and throws one arm across her eyes to shield it from the sun that's behind my head now, probably making it hard for her to read the expression on my face, which is all about my devotion for her.

I let my fingers trace all the way up the inside of her arms, and briefly kiss the soft, sensitive skin on the inside of her elbow. Then I trace the long column of her neck, her collarbones and breastbone, and stop at the top button of her dress. "May I?" I ask her, holding the button between my fingers. She looks at me through her lashes, her eyes like slits, gives me a small smile and nods. She trusts me.

I carefully unbutton the first four buttons of her dress, and pull the fabric to the side to reveal the top of her breasts in the lacy blue bra. I draw a shaky breath and softly press my lips to the swell of her breasts, then pause briefly before I slowly unbutton another five buttons. Bella's breath is more shallow now, but she doesn't tell me to stop. I can see her pale stomach, her body bare to me all the way down to her bellybutton. I carefully unbutton a few more buttons until I reach the top of her pretty blue panties, then I skim my fingers over her breasts and her soft skin all the way down, then back up again, and repeat the motion, letting my kisses follow the trail of my fingers. There's nothing urgent or demanding in my actions, just an expression of how I feel about her, how precious she is to me.

Bella is watching me, her lips parted and her breasts lifting visibly with every breath she takes. Carefully, I pull her bra straps down, and push the dress back over her shoulders, and she lifts her back to give me more room to maneuver. As I pull the cups of her bra down, the wire pushes her breasts up and I let my fingertips trace her puckering nipples before I lean down to softly kiss them, then lap at them slowly with my tongue. Bella lets out a little moaning sound that goes straight to my crotch. I pause to look at her face and smile, making sure that she's okay.

"You're so beautiful, Bella. There's nothing more beautiful in the world to me right now." She stares at me, her eyes swimming with some emotion I can't read, but doesn't say anything. I trace her nipples, and see that something is catching the sunlight. It's as if there are shiny, white traces beneath her skin, like scars of something.

"What are these?" I ask, curious. Bella follows my gaze and blushes, making a motion as if to cover herself.

"No, don't," I say, staying her hand. "It's beautiful, like mother-of-pearl. It almost sparkles. What is it? Some kind of scar tissue?" She hesitates, then nods. She takes my hand and moves my fingers low over her abdomen, pushing a little bit on the panties for access to the soft skin there. I move down to look and to feel her skin. Yes, there it is again, the same pale marks.

"They're stretch marks, Edward, and I kind of hate them. It's nice of you to say that they sparkle, though. To me they look more like traces of decay – it's as if small worms had burrowed under my skin and left the marks of their passage engrained there forever."

I frown and look, then kiss the tiny marks, before pulling her dress up a bit to cover her. She pulls the bra cups and straps up again, and shakily buttons a couple of buttons on her dress to hold it together. I sit up and gently pull her into my lap, as I see a tear forming and running down her cheek.

"I thought stretch marks were something you usually get when you're pregnant, Bella," I say, hesitating. "Did you have children?" She's silent for a beat, then wipes at her eyes and nod.

"Yes," she said. "James and I had a daughter, Lily, but she died when she was an infant." I wait for her to tell me more, and when she doesn't, I ask.

"You never tried again? Why?" She shakes her head, and her hair moves against my cheek, rough and soft at the same time.

"Because we were never meant to have children in the first place. And when Lily died, I knew that it was impossible." I hug her tightly against my chest, because I feel her shivering.

"Are you cold, Bella?" She shakes her head no, but nestles closely against my chest, her arms coming up to hug me as she presses her face into my shirt. I wait for a while, stroking her hair while she cries quietly, her tears wetting my shoulder.

"Bella, I don't know if you want to talk about it, but I would really like to know what happened. Will you tell me?" The idea of Bella with a daughter is mind-blowing but also right. I remember how she sat with Summer on her lap and the yearning look in her eyes when she watched me playing with the kids at Jim's house. I'm sure Bella would make a really excellent mother – fuck, look at how she has been mothering me for Christ's sake. I don't see why she would think she wasn't supposed to have kids, unless it was some asshole idea of her ex-husband's. I squeeze her tight, and wiggle out a napkin for her to blow her nose.

"Is there any more water?" Bella's voice is muffled as she wipes at her face, and I manage to find half a bottle of water in one of the bags for her to drink from.

I scoot us up so that my back is against the tree and Bella is in my arms, with her head tucked under my chin and her back against my chest. I figure that maybe it will be easier for her to talk without having to maintain eye contact with me the whole time. I nuzzle her hair, and say quietly, "I'm listening." Bella draws a deep, shaky breath, then begins to talk in a voice that is so low I have to lean down to be sure I'm not missing anything, beneath the blanket of sound that is the crickets and the wind in the trees and the grass rustling.

"I got pregnant when I was 33, and it wasn't a planned pregnancy." She moves a little in my arms, then settles down against my chest again. "I wasn't sure how I felt about having children, and James was very clear on the fact that he didn't have the time or the inclination to be a father. But when I discovered I was pregnant even though I'd been on the pill, I changed my mind. Suddenly it was so real. I could have a child of my own, a child that was _ours_. Abortion just wasn't an option." She absentmindedly picks at her dress, buttoning the tiny rose buttons slowly one by one.

"I loved being pregnant," she says, her voice small. "I suffered from morning sickness, but not badly, I gained weight and felt bloated, but once the baby started kicking it was just her and me." She briefly touches her stomach. "It was such a wonderful feeling, sharing your body with another person, so intimate. Never being alone." She sighs.

"But the delivery was … difficult, and I was exhausted afterwards, completely drained. We had to stay in the hospital for a week because Lily had trouble feeding and got jaundice so she had to receive a light-treatment for hours every day. My job was just to feed her and try to keep her calm so that she slept or stayed still under the lights, but I had a hard time even managing that." She pulls her knees up, hugging them to her, and I squeeze her reassuringly as if to tell her that I'm here for her.

"When we got home it got worse. I had to give up the idea of just breastfeeding her and give her the bottle because my nipples hurt so badly and I still didn't have enough milk for her. She cried all the time. Probably she had a hard time tolerating the stuff I was feeding her. I slept in her room, because James was working long hours as usual and needed his sleep, and I was up every three hours, feeding her or walking around with her. He wanted us to get a nurse or something for the baby, but I had taken time off from work because I wanted to be with her. I was her mother, for crying out loud!" In spite of the summer heat, there are goose bumps on her arms when she speaks.

"I wasn't doing a good job of being a mother, though, and I could tell James was getting sick of the way our life was disrupted. Lily was fretful and I was a mess because I wasn't getting any sleep. Most days I hardly made it out of the house. It was a blessing that we had people coming in to clean and deliver groceries, or we would have starved or drowned in our own filth. James tried to be supportive, but he simply wasn't there most of the time. It was just Lily and me." She bites down on the back of her hands, that are clasped on her knees, and a small shudder runs through her.

"And the worst part was …" she pauses. "…the worst part was that I didn't love her." Confused, I draw a breath to protest or ask her what she means, but she shuts me up by shaking her head violently.

"Don't say anything, Edward. You don't know. That's the reaction I got from the counselor James made me see. He told me _of course_ I loved her, I was just stressed out and depressed, a completely normal reaction." She pauses, almost as if she's bracing herself for a leap.

"But I was there. I know what it felt like. I looked at Lily, this beautiful, perfect baby, and I felt nothing but emptiness and dread. I knew I was supposed to swoon with tenderness and love, but I didn't. I took care of her, I washed her and fed her, I carried her and talked to her and sang to her, but inside I was as cold as a stone." Now, she's almost curled into a ball in my arms, and it's all I can do to hold her against the tremors I feel running through her body.

"And then, she died." Her voice chokes up again, and she's quiet, slowly breathing in and out for a minute. I catch her hands in mine and squeeze them, and she clutches our entwined hands to her chest where I can feel her breasts slowly heaving.

"I fed her around midnight and then managed to go to sleep. When I woke, I looked at the time and I was surprised when I realized she'd slept for five hours straight. I went to look at her in the cot, to see if she was awake although she was quiet, and she was lying on her stomach, not moving. I touched her, and she felt cool to the touch instead of warm. Then I freaked out, and when I picked her up I could tell she wasn't breathing. I ran out into the hallway and called out for James, and he came stumbling out of bed and called the ambulance while I put her on our bed and tried to give her CPR, although I knew that it's really difficult with an infant. When the ambulance came, I rode with it to the hospital and James followed in his car, but I knew then that it was too late." She stops speaking, and when she resumes, her voice is weak, like the wind through a reed.

"We had to stay in the waiting room while they took her into the intensive care unit, but after maybe thirty minutes they came out and told us that they'd been unable to revive her. She'd stopped breathing spontaneously in her sleep, and had probably been dead for a couple of hours before I found her."

I feel my hands getting wet and I realize that Bella is crying again.

"Oh, Bella, I'm so sorry," is all I can say, a huge lump in my chest choking up my words. "How does such a thing even happen?" She leans her wet cheek against the back of my hand and whispers:

"It's called Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. No one knows exactly why it happens, but it may be more common where the mother is a smoker, or where the baby is wrapped too warm or left sleeping on its stomach." She shakes her head gently. "I don't remember leaving her on her stomach, but I must have, because she hadn't started turning around on her own yet. So it was probably my fault."

I release my hands and pull on Bella's shoulders so that she's turned around sitting across my lap, facing me. Her face is streaked with tears, and her eyes are puffy. I take her head between my hands and look at her, speaking slowly.

"Listen to me, Bella, you can't possibly blame yourself for something that was clearly an accident, something out of your control. Do you understand what I'm saying?" She just stares back at me, a world of grief in her eyes.

"Oh, Edward, don't you think people have been telling me the same thing a hundred times? I've told _myself _the same thing a hundred times! But don't you see: I was the one responsible for her care and I was the one who put her in danger by not paying attention closely enough. If I hadn't put her down on her stomach or if I hadn't slept through the night, it might not have happened." I look sternly at her, but I feel helpless. It's like hearing my own guilt talking and I understand all too well where she's coming from. Still, I have to try.

"Bella, please listen to yourself. You're an intelligent woman. What happened might not have happened that night, but it might have happened any other night, regardless of who was in that room. If a baby stops breathing spontaneously, it's not somebody's fault. That's like saying it's my fault if you were suddenly to have a brain aneurysm and die here in my arms. Don't you see?"

Bella nods, and wipes at her face with the crumpled napkin. "I'm an intelligent woman, Edward. I understand what you're saying. But somewhere deep inside me I can't help believing that she died _because I didn't love her_. That somehow she felt that my love wasn't strong enough to hold her here." There's a silence so awful that at first I don't know how to break it. I hesitate, then I ask her the first thing on my mind:

"I don't mean to sound callous, but why didn't you try again? Many people do after losing a child."

Bella shakes her head, sniffing. "I was a mess after Lily died. I was … depressed. James made me go see a counselor. I buried myself in work. Neither of us thought that trying for another child was a good idea. James told me if I really wanted a child, we could look into options for adoption, but I told him no." She shudders. "I already knew James' heart wasn't in it, so it was up to me. And I didn't want to take the risk of putting an orphaned child through it all, only to discover that I was a complete failure as a mother. I just couldn't do it."

We look into each other's eyes, both at a loss for something to say. And then I do the only thing I can do; I kiss her. I kiss her wet eyes and cheeks, I kiss her jaw and I kiss her lovely mouth; soft from crying, it molds under my lips without resistance. I kiss her because there's nothing more I can say to assuage the hurt in her eyes, and because I know how heavy that weight of guilt sits on her chest. I kiss her, and then I hug her close and whisper in her ear something I've wanted to tell her almost since the day I first saw her, but have been too afraid to say out loud.

"I love you." I whisper it over and over again, the way you tell a child that everything will be all right. Because although I can't tell her that everything will be all right, this I can tell her with absolute certainty and from the bottom of my heart.

"I love you, Bella. So much."

And with a deep, shuddering sigh, Bella hugs me harder and whispers back.

"Yes, Edward, yes, I know. I love you, too. I love you."

And in spite of everything, the stone cold shadow of grief between us and the transient summer day teeming with life and light around us, my heart beats harder just to hear those words. Because to me, those words mean that my forever is here, a new beginning.

Suddenly I know that there's something I need to do. I sit up a little bit straighter, and let Bella go enough so that I can move her down to sit on the blanket beside me, close but no longer smothered by my arms. I gently stroke her hair, and hook the flying, dark strands behind her ears while I look at her.

"Bella, I love you, and there's something I need to tell you." I clear my throat, watching those brown eyes I love so much looking at me; tired, but intent. "Bella, I need to tell you about Alice."

* * *

**A/N: Okay, so that was a really tough chapter to write, and I hope it wasn't too tough to read? I don't know if you have any personal experiences of losing a child - I'm writing this partly based on a friend of mine who lost her first baby to Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. She and her husband went on to have two healthy children and started a support group for other parents who went through the same trauma. So, do you think Bella should have tried again. Or is she really a bad mother? Was Edward wrong to drop the l-word at this moment? If you can, let me know your thoughts!**


	38. Chapter 38

**A/N: Disclaimer - Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff.**** A huge thank you to my diligent beta Trekgeezer, who turned this chapter around in no time at all! And thank you to each and every one who reads this.**

* * *

_I remember vividly a day years ago,  
We were camping.  
You knew more than you thought you should know.  
You said: I don't want ever to be brainwashed  
And you were mind boggling, you were intense.  
You were uncomfortable in your own skin.  
You were thirsty,  
But mostly you were beautiful._

_If we were our name tags,_  
_If we were our rejections,_  
_If we were our outcomes,_  
_I'd be joining you._

_If we were our indignities,_  
_If we were our successes,_  
_If we were our emotions,_  
_I'd be joining you._

Alanis Morisette: Joining You

* * *

**Chapter 38**

**BPOV**

The sunny picnic turned into something sinister and heavy the minute Edward started asking about my stretch marks. They're ugly, twisted things puckering my skin and I hate them. Some of them have been with me since I was a kid. To me, they are like battle scars, reminders of the fights that I've lost. But lying here, exposed to Edward's touch and eyes under the rays of the midday sun, suddenly I took comfort in the fact that this is as bad as it gets. Edward knows me now; he's seen the worst parts of me. He's aware of my ugliness and seems to accept me, regardless. It would be a relief to share my other failures with him, too.

Though, telling him about Lily, digging up those memories again when I've spent so much energy trying to put them behind me, has left me emotionally drained. I feel dazed when he tells me he loves me. It's like hearing something I've always known but at the same time it's startling and new. His eyes are so sad, but it's his sweet kisses more than anything that makes me believe him. This isn't just his pity talking. This is Edward showing me his heart. Saying it back isn't hard, it's … inevitable. I've basically laid myself bare, shown him my jugular. If I trust him with my life, with my shame, how can I hold back the fact that I love him? Our mutual declarations seem like a kind of promise. We're together in this now, for better and for worse.

So, now I'm trying to gather my wits, wiping at my wet face and pulling on my hair and clothes to achieve some semblance of calm. Edward is finally telling me that he's ready to talk: about Alice. "Go on," I say encouragingly. "Who is Alice?" Edward picks up my hand, and holds it in his large one, looking down at the blanket between us. He sighs, and pulls the other hand through his hair in that gesture of frustration I've come to know so well.

"Alice is, or was, my adopted sister. She's dead. She died this spring. That's the reason I left my family and can't see them or talk to them right now. They're in too much pain, and I can't force them to look at me knowing what they know about me." I feel a cold sense of dread trickling down my back that is pressed against the rough texture of the tree trunk. I force my voice not to tremble as I ask him carefully.

"What is it that they know about you that's so painful, Edward?"

He looks up at me, then down at the ground again, and his hand squeezes mine, hard. There's pain in his eyes, and something darker. "I was responsible for her, I should have taken care of her, but I didn't and she died. If it weren't for me, Alice would probably still be alive." His voice is tight and I can see his jaw clenching. I strive to stay focused, although what he's saying sounds far too much like my own words thrown back at me.

"Wait, back up, you have to tell me more. How old was Alice? How long had she been in your family? Why were you responsible for taking care of her?" I've seen Edward with children, how warm and attentive he can be. I can't imagine the Edward I know being careless or leaving a child alone to walk out in front of a car or fall out of a second-story window. Could the old Edward have been capable of such things?

He shakes his head slowly. "I was five or six when Alice was adopted. She was a toddler then and I became the big brother." He pulls up strands of grass with his right hand, keeping his face half turned away from me.

"Alice had a lot of problems. Early on I think they figured she had autism, because she didn't relate normally to others and seemed closed within her own world. Later on they decided it was some kind of attention deficit. She kept having these tantrums where she would throw stuff around, hurt others and sometimes herself, too. She almost got kicked out of school when she was five for stabbing a friend's hand with a pair of scissors." I gasp. He looks at me, pleading.

"But she wasn't like that, Bella, not really. She was the sweetest girl you could imagine, too. She loved playing with me when we were younger, and she would talk to me for hours, even when she refused to talk to our parents. She just didn't understand other people, and that frustrated the hell out of her." He sighs, and starts pulling at the grass again.

"She was smart, and kind, but everyone thought she was weird. In school everyone was afraid of her or taunted her, called her retard or psycho. Our parents didn't know what to do. Esme, our mother, spent all her time on Alice when she was little. Then, when Alice got put on medication, things eased up a little bit. Esme went back to work as an interior decorator, but she was still always there for Alice, whenever something went wrong." He looks up at the sky, and gets this far-away expression on his face.

"I guess I resented Alice for that, sometimes, that she got all the attention. I loved her, but I got tired of trying to protect her and trying to protect everybody else from the consequences of her actions. I felt like I got jerked around, trying to please everyone. Often, I was the only one who could get through to Alice. I could calm her down when she got wound up. Or else I was stuck trying to comfort Esme or soothe Carlisle when Alice had bawled them out." He chews on the inside of his cheek.

"In middle school no girl would look at me, and I had no real friends. I was just weird Alice's weirdo brother. I didn't dare invite anyone home for fear they would witness something ugly, like Alice throwing something through a window, or trying to scratch Esme's eyes out with her nails, or Carlisle shouting at her to calm the fuck down. I did everything I could to make everyone happy and to fit in, but I never got anything in return for my efforts – or so I thought." He looks over at me, his brow furrowing.

"I realize now that we were lucky to have Esme and Carlisle. They weren't perfect, but they tried to give us what they thought we needed." He hunches his shoulders as if to protect himself from something, an unseen cloud hovering above us. I stroke his arm slowly, soothingly, watching the golden hairs that are almost invisible in the daylight move under my fingers.

"So then you started rebelling against them, for expecting too much from you?" I ask. "I can see that happening. It sounds as if you never really allowed yourself to be a kid. You were trying to be a parent to your parents. That had to end." He leans his head back against the tree trunk, staring down at the ground, still frowning.

"I wish I had done things differently. Alice always looked up to me. When I became popular and started sneaking out, going to parties and doing drugs, she thought that was how high school was supposed to be. She thought I was cool, maybe even cooler when I tried ignoring her, even if she was hurt by it. By the time she reached high school she was out of control, too. I just didn't realize how much. I knew she was hanging with the emo crowd, and I guessed that she smoked pot with them, even if I never saw her with drugs around the house. I knew that she cut herself occasionally, but she always wore long sleeves so that no one would see." He sighs. "When I told our parents, Alice freaked out completely. She thought I had betrayed her. They became even more obsessed with trying to help her." He puts his hands behind his head, interlacing his fingers with one another.

"The weekend she died, I was alone with her for the first time in ages. It was spring break and Esme and Carlisle had gone away to stay the night with friends, leaving me in charge. I knew I should have spent more time with Alice, but I was restless. When I was invited to a party by people I knew from high school, I knew I shouldn't have left, but I didn't think it could do any harm. It was in the neighborhood so I took my car and went over there. The party was lame, though, and I didn't want to get high, so I ended up in the basement playing video games with some of the guys." His face tenses, and a muscle in his jaw starts twitching.

"Then, later, someone told me my sister was there. I ran upstairs and found Alice, drunk, trying to flirt with some older guys who were just laughing at her. She must have followed me, or seen my car. It made me really mad, so I scooped her up and took her home. She was upset, crying; kept saying she wanted to talk to me, but I just dumped her in her room, told her she was too immature to be worth my time, and locked myself in the basement to be alone. She didn't come after me, and I felt relieved. It wasn't until much later, when I checked on her, that I discovered she'd killed herself. God, she must have been so lonely!" He chokes on his words, falls silent and hides his face in his hands.

I tentatively touch his hair. "Are you okay, Edward?" I ask carefully, even though it's obvious that he's not. He shakes his head, and a sob wracks his body. His voice is muffled when he speaks into his hands. "Can we please stop now, Bella? I don't think I can talk about this anymore, not … not right now." I scoot closer, so that I can put my arms around him and hold him. I whisper into his ear, "It's okay, Edward. We don't have to do anything you don't want to do."

The truth is that I'm not sure what to do about this. It's an awful burden to bear, a suicide in the family. Anyone would be reeling from losing a younger sister like that, and Edward obviously feels responsible. He needs to see someone, a counselor, to help him grieve and let go of the guilt. I'm not sure I'm equipped to save him from _this_.

I lean my forehead against his shoulder and think of how alike we are, even though so many things make us different from one another. We've both tried so hard, and yet we both feel that we've failed at the most important thing in life – giving someone we loved what they needed to live. My eyes tear up as I think of Lily, so tiny in that white coffin – beautiful and perfect, like a little doll. Our baby. But I've realized that even though something is obviously lacking in my makeup as a woman and mother, I have to move on, guilt or no guilt. And so Edward has to move on. I'm sure that his family loves him, no matter what, and that they're heartsick now that he's left them. I decide then and there that my goal will be for Edward to have the opportunity to be reunited with his family before the end of summer. I don't know how, but it's the only real thing I can do to help him.

Edward finally straightens up and wipes at his eyes, quickly, as if to hide his tears from me. I stop his hand, and hold it in mine, trying to catch his gaze. "Hey, Edward, it's okay. I'm so glad you told me, and I'm so sorry you had to go through all that alone. But I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere. Whenever you need to, I'll be here to listen. And I know that you probably can't believe this right now, but I can assure you that none of that was your fault. You don't have to say anything. I just want you to try to think about it seriously – the idea that what happened wasn't because of you. You couldn't stop it from happening, and you didn't cause it. Try to see it from the outside, that's all I ask." Edward says nothing, and doesn't look at me, but eventually he nods his head slowly, as if to show me that he's heard me. I scramble to my feet, not letting go of his hand, and gently tug on it.

"And now I think we need to get moving, if we want to make it to Berkeley by four o'clock. Do you want to drive or should I?" Edward slowly gets up, still avoiding my eyes, and looks around at the ground as if he's searching for something. Then he bends down and picks something up from out of the grass.

He turns to me, his eyes a little red-rimmed but just as beautiful as ever. There are faint traces of tears still hanging from his long, black lashes.

"There's something I wanted to give you, and this seemed like the right place to do it. I didn't know we would get so emotional, though." He smiles his crooked smile and shrugs his shoulders a little, then grasps my left wrist. He holds out a thin, black leather band. A small pendant dangles from it, catching the sunlight. When I take it between my finger and thumb I see that it's a small heart. It's made from some pale material that looks white and then green and lilac, almost like a tiny rainbow.

"It's abalone, made from the shells found on this coast," Edward tells me. He slowly winds the cord around my wrist and ties it with a complicated knot. The little heart now dangles from my wrist. I watch it, fascinated, as it sparkles in the sun.

His voice is soft when he continues. "I wanted you to have a memory from this trip, a sign of my love for you. Will you wear it?" I nod because I don't trust my voice enough to speak. He gently picks up my hand and kisses the inside of my wrist with warm lips. I feel warm and cold at the same time. My body automatically leans into him and I end up in his arms, pressing my face into his shirt. He smells incredible. He smells like home.

"Thank you, Edward. Yes, I'll wear it. You know I love you," I mumble indistinctly through my tears and the fabric of his shirt. He squeezes my arm, then kisses my forehead as he releases me. He looks down at me with the hint of a smile.

"Do you know, today is my birthday?" I immediately step back, shocked.

"What? And you didn't tell me before? Why, Edward?" He shrugs, and starts collecting our stuff without meeting my eyes.

"It didn't seem like a big deal. I don't even know why I told you now. Forget it." He sounds dismissive, but I put my hand on his back, feeling the heat of his skin on my palm through his shirt. He straightens up, then turns back to face me. I bite my lip, looking up into his face and run a finger across his frowning forehead until he meets my gaze.

"It is a big deal to me, Edward. I'm sorry you didn't tell me before, but I'm really glad you told me now." Suddenly I remember something, and I fish the little box with the ring out of my purse.

"Look at this. The antique ring I bought in the shop yesterday had a date inscribed in it, the woman there thought it was an engagement ring. Let's see … yes, here it is! It reads June 20, 1920, you know? Your birthday! Isn't it a strange coincidence?"

Edward takes the ring from me, holding it to catch the light, then tries it on his finger, although it's much too small to fit. Then he pulls it off, picks up my left hand, and slowly lets the ring slide home where my platinum wedding band used to sit for so many years. The cool metal feels familiar and strange at the same time. He looks at me, but neither of us moves or speaks. Then a bird settles in the tree above us and breaks into song, and the moment is over. I clear my throat and look down at my hand where the cloudy white moonstone winks at me when I move my fingers.

"How about we go out to dinner in San Francisco tonight, and we'll make it your birthday dinner?" I ask. Edward's eyes are guarded but then he relaxes and shrugs, giving me his lopsided smile.

"Yes, that sounds great; just you and me and dinner in San Francisco. With a view of the Golden Gate Bridge?" His eyebrows go up and he gives me those puppy dog eyes that I'm sure he knows I can't resist. I make a face but smile all the same.

"I don't know, Edward, but I'll try my best to give you a view of Alcatraz. Please manage your expectations if you can." His reply is instant and teasing.

"Hey, Bella, I pretty much got all my wishes fulfilled last night, with you in a bathing suit and then seeing you wear the lingerie I picked out. I don't think there are any more birthday expectations I need you to fulfill!"

I pick up the blanket from the ground and fold it, shaking my head. He can seem like such a kid sometimes.

As we walk back through the high grass in the direction of the car, I can't help asking, "How old are you again, Edward? 21?"

He replies quickly, "I'm 22, today."

I nod, thoughtful. "So you only had a couple of months left till graduation when you left?" He's looking at the ground but hums affirmatively. I pause, then continue. "Then it really seems like a mistake to let your college credits go to waste. Would you mind telling me where you went to school?" He gives me a long look without saying anything, and my heart drops. "Okay, so you're not ready to tell me right now, but when you do I promise you, Edward, I will help you."

I reach out and touch his arm, and he looks at the ground again, but nods silently. The beautiful day around us vibrates with sound and sunshine, but there's a silent cloud hanging over us as we load the car and drive off. Out of the corner of my eye I see the glint of the heart pendant dangling from my wrist, and for a moment I imagine myself thousands of miles away, on a rainy street in Europe with nothing but this small reminder of a surreal and complicated love. I feel my mouth set into a line and I clutch the wheel with both hands. Edward turns the music back on and Creedence Clearwater Revival fills the car. "I feel there's a bad moon rising, I feel there's trouble on the way …"

We emerge from the wilderness at Palo Alto, and wind our way quickly up to San Francisco. The Chancellor Hotel is just off Union Square. It's nothing fancy but a good choice since it's situated strategically in the downtown area. There's 24-hour parking nearby, so we leave the car and walk a block to the hotel to check in.

I can't help wondering what the man behind the desk thinks as I'm checking us in. Edward waits, casually lounging against the desk, his long lean legs stretched out, our bags resting at his feet. Does the man think that I'm sharing a room with my son? That Edward's my lover? My escort? I swallow and sign the slip, retrieving the key cards and directions to our room.

I can't help noticing the warm smile on the face of the blonde woman sharing the elevator with us as she catches Edward's eye. He smiles politely back at her, then looks away, but her gaze lingers. When she notices me scowling at her, she has the grace to quickly turn her head, though. Bitch! Fortunately, she exits on another floor, and we finish the ride in solitude. Edward immediately steps closer to me, leans down and kisses my cheek.

"Don't worry, I've never liked blondes." I look up at him, and see him smiling at me, his eyes warm. I feel my face heat up.

"Sorry. Was I that obvious?" He shakes his head.

"No, I'm sure no one but me would catch your "I'll kill you now" look. I'm just very happy that, so far, it's never been directed at me. I wonder what I would have to do to deserve it. Destroy your laptop?" He allows me to exit ahead of him and lead the way down the hall to our room. I sigh and shake my head, amused against my will as I insert the key card and hold the door open for Edward to enter with the bags.

"I didn't know I had a lethal look in my arsenal, but I assure you it would have to be something pretty spectacular for me to direct it at you." I slide my arms around him, looking up at his beautiful face. "After all, you're my light and my joy. I'd be foolish to kill the source of my happiness, right?" After all the emotional upheaval of this day, I'm feeling as if my heart and mind have been through a wringer. Leaning into his body, I know that Edward's touch is enough to make me feel warm and alive again. He leans down and I nip at his jaw, which is still deliciously clean-shaven. He sighs when I kiss my way down his throat and start fumbling with his shirt. He pulls my hips to his body in a move that seems instinctive.

His voice sounds gravelly when he asks me: "Bella? Are you okay? And do we have time for this? Because if we don't, you really should stop touching me now." I give him my most innocent look before palming him firmly on top of his jeans.

"What? Stop touching you where, exactly?" He growls and pushes into my hand.

"Oh, you really shouldn't have said that!"

Before I know what's happening, I'm picked up and unceremoniously thrown down on the queen size bed. Edward follows, smothering me with his body and a passionate kiss. His warm hand is already stroking my thigh under my dress, climbing higher and higher, until he's returning the favor, palming my center on top of the lacy blue boy shorts. They are definitely damp beneath his exploring fingers. I wriggle on the bed and moan into his mouth, pulling his shirt up in the back where I can reach it. He stops kissing me and looks down at me, his eyes wild but also full of laughter.

"Okay, Ms. Swan, are you ready for a quick fuck?" By now I'm tingling all over, needy and impatient, so I nod.

"Eager, huh? Well, so am I!" And with that, Edward slides off the bed, flips my skirt up over my head and pulls down my panties in one swift move. I hear the jangle of his belt, and just as I untangle my head from the fabric, I whelp, surprised when he grabs my legs and pulls me to the edge of the bed. His pants are only pushed down over his ass but he's obviously ready, already nudging at my wet center. He slides up and down, watching mesmerized as we both get wet from my excitement.

He mumbles, "Oh, Bella, what I would like to do with you …" and I feel a cool shiver of anticipation run through my hot body.

"Edward, please just do it, now," I blurt out. I'm rewarded by the sight of his eyes darkening as his hand squeezes my thigh. Lightning quick he has a condom ready, and then, without ceremony, he lets himself slide home. I squeal, surprised at the abrupt intrusion, and he stills. At this angle, I can feel him deep inside me. For a moment he stays there, his mouth half-open, his eyes filled with emotion as he looks down at me, spread out before him.

"Bella, I can't tell you how damned beautiful you look right now. Please, can I just … please let me just fuck you?" I smile. What does he think he's been doing for the past few weeks?

I recognize the urgency in his voice so I reply:"Yes, Edward, I already asked you to. Please, just fuck me." And he does. It's quick and without frills, unlike our usual lovemaking, and normally I wouldn't expect to cum. But somehow the sight of Edward letting himself go with such abandon, making helpless animal noises as he gives me all he's got, is incredibly arousing. Or maybe I'm just worked up after crying my eyes out and then riding in a car with him all day. I only know that within seconds the tingling in my abdomen is spreading and building, tighter and tighter, until I hear myself crying out as I spiral over the edge. Edward keeps up his relentless rhythm, shaking my whole body with his thrusts until he, too, cums, chanting my name, as he collapses on the bed, half covering me with his body.

"Wow!" he breathes, as he presses his sweaty brow against my throat. "That was intense!" He looks up at me, touching my lips with his hot fingers, his voice a little concerned. "Are you okay?" I nod, exhausted, tears in my eyes. I feel emotional, but not in a bad way.

"Much more than okay. I think we both needed that. Oh, and I'll make time for a quick fuck with you any day, Mr Masen," I say, trying to defuse any bad feelings on his part. He smiles and kisses me, pulling out and taking care of the condom as he rolls onto his back on the bed.

"I'm sorry if that was a bit rough. I promise I'll make it up to you later. I think I just had to get some sexual tension out of my system." He touches my hair, and his eyes are more serious when he says, "I don't think I've ever felt as raw as I did with you today in the meadow. Literally, it was as if I had no skin, no protective layers whatsoever. I'm so sorry for what you had to go through, and I feel so honored that you wanted to share it with me." His eyes sparkle, and his fingers trace my cheek tenderly.

"Maybe it's wrong, but for some reason I've been longing to be inside you all day. I even considered giving you road head to make you stop the car at one point." I raise my head in alarm and look at him, frowning. He hastily continues, "But I knew you wouldn't approve." I shake my head tiredly, then look at the time.

"Holy crap! We need to shower and change _now_, Edward! Please try to hold your libido in check until we get back here tonight, okay?" He chuckles as I scramble for the bathroom, taking my bag with me. I never knew sex could be so _time consuming_!

* * *

**A/N: Whew, so finally we get to learn a little bit more about what happened to Edward. My heart goes out to everyone who's had to experience a suicide in the family: that's one of the most devastating things to bear. Do you think Bella will be able to sway Edward's mind about seeing his family? What do you think will happen, now that they've arrived? Have you ever seen the Golden Gate Bridge in the morning fog? I love it when you leave a review or a PM!**


	39. Chapter 39

**A/N: Disclaimer - Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. I'm grateful once again to Trekgeezer, beta extraordinaire who takes the time to teach me my P's and Q's! This update is a little early since I'm going away: I thought you'd prefer that to later? :)**

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_Well, love was kind for a time  
and now it just stays and it makes me blind  
This mirror holds my eyes too bright  
but I can't see the others in my life_

_Were we too young, our heads too strong_  
_to bear the weight of this lovers' eyes_  
_'Cause I feel numb beneath your tongue,_  
_beneath the currents of these lovers' eyes_

_But do not ask the price I paid_  
_I must live with my quiet rage_  
_Tame the ghosts in my head_  
_that run wild and wish me dead_  
_Should you shake my ash to the wind_  
_Lord, forget all of my sins_  
_Well, let me die where I lie_  
_beneath the curse of my lovers' eyes_

Mumford & Sons: Lover's Eyes

* * *

**BPOV**

**Chapter 39**

While Edward's showering, I fix my hair, collect my notebooks and pack my laptop bag. It's a good computer, but a little heavy to lug around. Maybe I should buy a new one to take with me on the trip. I bite my lip. I guess I have finally made up my mind to leave Edward behind, if there's really no other way. Though now, more than ever, I wish we could stay together. He needs me, or someone like me, in his life.

If only he had a passport. What could stop me from bringing him with me, maybe not for the whole time, but at least for a month or so? He could always go to England with a tourist visa, then return to the U.S. when his time – what, two months, three months? – ran out. Or, maybe he could study in the UK; but that would require university applications and visas and grants that would never be ready in time for him to leave with me in August or September. What if …? I break my train of thought and return to reality. The reality of the situation is that Edward is in hiding for reasons I don't completely understand. As long as he refuses to tell me why he has this obsession with hiding his identity and his whereabouts, I'm helpless to do anything.

I catch a glimpse of my scowling face in the mirror by the door and turn my back to it, delving into my bag once again. I've dressed up a bit since I want to make a good impression on Dr. Cope. I want her to see that I've pulled myself together. Now I'm looking for my one comfortable pair of black heels. I find them and slip them on, checking myself in the mirror one last time. I look okay: black dress slacks with a black belt, loose white shirt, smooth hair up in a ponytail, discreet silver ear rings. I touch the new ring and the pendant at my wrist. I didn't take the leather band off during my shower since the knots seemed too complicated and I was impatient. I don't think I ever want to take it off.

I carefully unfold my black linen jacket from the bag and shake it out. I haven't used it in ages, and now it seems too big when I try it on. I can wear it draped over my shoulders and no one will be able to tell. I guess I should shop for some new clothes. I left most of my things behind in storage, since I didn't have the energy to plan ahead when I left. So far I've been content to pick up an item or two here or there, or take whatever Rose presses on me. If I'll be meeting people again and lecturing students, I need to look my best, though.

I always used to care about how I presented myself at work, even at the times when I was feeling most low. No matter how you look, the way you dress sends a message to others, and I wanted to be sure that my students always took me seriously. I smile at the memory of Edward's silly teacher fantasy, then frown when I remember Tanya Denali and how she usually dresses for work. I bet _she_ has sent more than a couple of her students home beating off to fantasies of bending her over a desk. I shudder, shaking my head to clear those images out of my mind, then look at my watch. I call to Edward through the bathroom door.

"Edward, I'm going to go get the car now. I'll pick you up outside the hotel in ten minutes, okay?" His response is muffled but affirmative, and I look around one last time to make sure I haven't forgotten anything important before leaving our room. Outside, it's still sunny and the wind whips through the tunnels formed by the high buildings. I had forgotten how windy San Francisco is; it's much like Chicago. My ponytail curls around my neck and I tuck it beneath my shirt collar to keep it from blowing into my face.

When I pull up in front of the hotel, Edward is standing on the sidewalk. My heart jumps in my chest when I take him in. Dressed in khakis and a white shirt, with a sweater slung over his shoulders and his shades shielding his beautiful eyes, he looks like a model. His smile when he sees me is stunning. When he slides into the seat beside me, he pulls off his glasses and leans in for a quick kiss. I stutter.

"You look really good, Edward. Did you dress up for me?" His eyes rake playfully across my body and he raises his eyebrows, before squeezing my thigh and leaning back in his seat.

"Maybe. I see that you did. You look great." As I pull away from the curb, his voice becomes more serious. "I wanted to look my best, in case we meet someone you know. I don't want anyone who respects you to think that you've picked up some random guy off the street." There's a hint of bitterness in his voice that I don't like, but I don't know what I should say to dissipate it, so I let it slide.

On the ride to Berkeley, I point out some parts of town I hope to show him later. I already regret that we don't have more time. There's so much I would love for us to do together. It strikes me that this is a little bit like getting a chance to do a part of my life over again. For the longest time I didn't have a boyfriend, and was starting to believe that I never would. Then I had James, but because I looked up to him so much, the start of our relationship was mostly about him introducing me to his lifestyle. It was not about us discovering things together. With Edward I feel more on an equal footing. I'm free to be myself instead of figuring out who he wants me to be. Though, what if I'm wrong? What if I'm actually like James, drawing Edward in and pushing my way of life on him, while he's too kind or too smitten with me to resist? Taking him with me to England could be a selfish move on my part. I'd be leaving him stranded in a situation where he couldn't move forward and where I called all the shots. Oh, this is so hard!

We get to campus with some time to spare and I find a place to park the car. We walk hand in hand through the streets and I try not to look around nervously for familiar faces. I show Edward the college bookstore, the little coffee shops, quaint stores and fast food places where students hang out. Summer sessions are on and it's noticeably less crowded than usual. We walk under the trees, up the gentle slope of the hill, and I point out the libraries and the Campanile, the beautiful clock-tower that is a landmark on campus. There are so many beautiful buildings here, and I feel my heart lift at the familiarity of my surroundings. Yes, it's time to get back to my life again, back to doing the things I love with people I care about.

Wheeler Hall looks vaguely like a Greek temple or a courthouse from the outside, and we take a quick look at the auditorium and lobby inside before finding our way to Dr. Cope's office. On a Thursday afternoon in late June, there are not a lot of people lingering in the hallways, so we arrive without encountering any of my old colleagues or grad students. When I knock on her door, she immediately replies. I squeeze Edward's hand nervously and shoot him a quick look before entering. He has removed his shades, and his eyes are fixed on me, earnest and beautiful.

As we enter the familiar office, Dr. Cope rises from her chair and walks around her desk to greet us. I try to take her proffered hand, but she pulls me into a quick hug, patting my back several times before letting me go. She beams at me.

"It's so good to see you, Bella. It's been too long." Her eyes wander over to Edward for the first time, and she arches an eyebrow at him with an amused smile.

Dr. Shelley Cope is short in stature, plump and looks deceptively like a partridge hen. With graying brown hair and clothed in browns and grays, her appearance is soft, yet serious. Shelley is one of the most intelligent and fearless women I know. I have come to respect her shrewdness and people skills, both necessary when running a department at such a competitive place.

Now, her clear gray eyes are focused on Edward. She gives me a look as if to say, "Well, who's this, then?" I swallow and put a hand on Edward's arm, whether protectively or possessively, I don't know.

"Dr. Cope, I'd like you to meet my boyfriend, Edward Masen. We met in Los Angeles earlier this summer and he took some time off from work to come with me and see San Francisco." Edward smiles and shakes her hand. He looks unfazed, in spite of Dr. Cope's scrutinizing stare.

"I'm pleased to meet you, Edward. Please call me Shelley. So, you're not a student of ours, I take it? Is UCLA your alma mater?" Edward smiles, and lies smoothly – at least, I think he's lying. "No, I graduated in another part of the country, and now I'm just taking some time off before I decide where I'm going. This campus looks like a great place to be a student. Would you say the English department is one of the major departments at Berkeley, or is the campus more oriented towards natural sciences or social sciences?" That's all it takes get Dr. Cope talking about the excellence of the English department and our groundbreaking work in gender studies and critical theory. I relax and let my mind wander for a minute.

Edward looks completely natural in this setting, maybe a lot less scruffy than some of my grad students, but very right for the part. His eyes shine with interest as he listens to Dr. Cope, injecting an intelligent question here and there to keep her going. I reflect on the fact that, not unlike Dr. Cope, Edward has some excellent people skills, which has probably helped him more than he knows. He's a social chameleon, immediately and instinctively adapting to the situation and winning people over. This is an area where I am sorely lacking. His good looks are part of it, but it's more than that. It's as if he can read people's minds and know what will make them comfortable, and how to make them like him. I don't know if it's completely conscious on his part or not. Either he's a master manipulator or he's unusually empathic for his age.

I wonder if being an adoptive child in a troubled family has made him extra sensitive to other people's needs and expectations. Unlike me, he doesn't seem to have any problems establishing boundaries. I remember how wary he's been about Tony, and how he picked up on Tanya's ugly vibes and steered me clear of her. When he doesn't want to please someone, he doesn't bother, while I tend to bend over backwards, even for people I don't care about. I should try to learn from him if I want to do better.

Edward turns to me. "I should probably get going and leave you two to talk. What time do you want me to pick you up, Bella?" I look to Dr. Cope for guidance.

"I'm not sure. Will an hour be enough?" I ask. She smiles at me, then her eyes dart between Edward and I as if she's trying to make up her mind about something.

"Oh, an hour or so should do. Bella can give you a ring if we find we need more time. It was a pleasure meeting you, Edward. I hope we see you here again in the future."

"Shelley." Edward nods and shakes her hand, then gives me a quick peck on the cheek and a reassuring squeeze at my waist before exiting the office. Dr. Cope gestures to the two comfortable chairs closer to the wall and we sit down to talk about the scholarship.

"So, I've been doing some thinking, and I do want to take advantage of this opportunity," I begin. Dr. Cope raises her eyebrows at me.

"I would certainly think so, Bella. It's what you've been waiting for. My only concern was that maybe you weren't feeling up to it after what's been going on in your personal life. But now that I see you again, I can tell that you're doing fine. You look wonderful, if you don't mind me saying so, and your writing is as interesting as ever." Her eyes on me are shrewd and unsentimental.

"We will miss you here at the department, as I've told you, but your position will still be open when you return. Do you know if you'll be interested in prolonging your stay there into the spring? You know that you have that option, though you don't have to decide right now. We'll need to know how long you'll be gone when we find a replacement for you."

I hesitate, and Dr. Cope continues smoothly into my silence, "Edward seems like a very pleasant young man. It's recent then, I assume, your relationship?" I nod, speechless. She nods her head understandingly. "I hope you'll be able to see him even if you go to England. Have you had any contact with James?"

There was never any love lost between James and Shelley Cope. When she became head of the department nine years ago, she was baffled by how I'd "held myself back" as she saw it. The few times she and James met you could almost hear the grating sounds of steel swords crossing. She thought I put too much stock into his opinions, and he thought I listened too much to hers. But she was as understanding a boss as she was demanding. Shelley was the one responsible for making me assistant professor, as well as giving me maternity leave when I asked for it. She also helped me through the awful time after Lily died. I trust her judgment absolutely.

"No," I reply, "my lawyer has kept in touch with his lawyers, but we mutually agreed that it wouldn't be in our best interests to keep in touch. As you know, the divorce wasn't pretty, and we didn't part as friends." That's the understatement of the year. "Why? Have you seen him?"

Dr. Cope shakes her head, "No, it's not important. I saw him at a party last month and he asked me how you were. I just told him that he should ask you himself; that's the extent of it. Have you thought more about that research proposal?" We launch into a talk about my ideas of researching attitudes towards madness in Shakespeare's time, looking for clues in his works on the connections between insanity and concepts of gender. Are Ophelia and Lady Macbeth mad in quite the same way as Hamlet and King Lear? Can insanity be a strategy to battle societal restraints and search for a truer self or is it merely the breakdown of personality?

Time flies, and before I know it there's a knock at the door. Edward's back, looking a bit flushed from walking in the sun and the wind. "Do you need more time? Because if you do I can wait outside," is his offer when he sees we're still talking and I'm taking notes on my laptop. I look at him apologetically.

"Maybe another ten minutes, that's all. Do you mind very much?" He grins at me and shakes his head.

"No problem, I'll be right outside the building. It was great meeting you, Shelley. Have a good summer, in case I don't see you again." With a little wave he closes the door behind him as he leaves. We finish our talk and I close my laptop. I gather the paperwork she's brought me to sign, requesting leave for the coming semester and promising that the university can publish whatever papers I write during my leave of absence.

"I'll get back to you as soon as I know whether it's possible that I'll be away more than one semester, but right now it doesn't seem likely," I say as I take my leave. Dr. Cope shakes my hand and looks at me with an unreadable expression.

"Guard your heart, Bella," is the last thing she says before I go. As I walk down the hall, I can't help thinking how out of character it seems for her to say it.

When I come out into the sun, Edward is waiting for me. He's lounging against the building. I can't resist hugging him, but then he surprises me by whipping out a wrapped packet from behind his back.

"Is this for me?" I ask, surprised. He nods, grinning, as I tear it open. It's a moleskin notebook. I turn it around in my hands, feeling the familiar smooth cover, and flipping the lined pages.

"It's a journal, Bella," Edward explains. "You told me you used to keep a diary, remember? I thought maybe you'd like to do it again." He pulls his hand through his hair in a nervous gesture, his eyes on mine. I smile and tuck away the notebook in my laptop bag.

"Thank you, Edward. It's been a long time since I did that, but maybe I could." As we start walking, he slips the bag from my shoulder without asking, and slings it across his own effortlessly, then takes my hand. "You really have to stop giving me gifts, though Edward: this is getting ridiculous," I chide him. He smiles to himself, and I know I'll never be able to deny him anything.

"Hey, by the way, when did you visit Victoria's Secret? And how did you know my size?" This is a mystery that had completely slipped my mind until now. I can't imagine Edward just walking into a lingerie store and automatically picking out the right stuff for me. He blushes a little bit and looks at me apologetically. "I had some help. And I may or may not have swiped a couple of panties and bras from your drawer beforehand."

"What? You took my underwear with you to the store?" Actually, that makes sense, and I only hope it wasn't my rattiest pair he took to display for the ladies at Victoria's Secret. Then I latch onto the other part of the sentence. "Help? Who helped you out? Not Rosalie, surely?" I can't imagine Rosalie going shopping with Edward, and I can't imagine her buying me those flattering but sensible boy shorts. Knowing Rosalie, she would have thrown in a tiny red thong for good measure.

Edward squeezes my hand. "No, actually Carmen took me to the store after we both quit our shift. She encouraged me to use my … eh, tactile memory of you to compare with her, and together we put the store lady on the right track." I raise my eyebrow at Edward.

"What, Carmen had you feel her up in the store, to compare me to her?" Edward shakes his head furiously.

"No, not at all! That's not what I meant! It was more about judging her average size and stuff, compared to how you look and feel to me." He clears his throat. "I may or may not have ogled her breasts, but it was purely scientific and she didn't disapprove. Much. Ow!" He breaks into laughter when I smack the backside of his head. "Kidding! Bella, I was kidding!" He puts his arms around me and draws me into a tight embrace. "I would never ogle another woman's breasts after seeing yours, Bella. You've completely ruined me for other women."

I feel the same way about him, but all I say, slightly out of breath, is: "I hope that's not entirely true. And I trust that Carmen can defend her own honor." His warm breath is in my hair, and his hands are splayed out over my back, holding me to him.

"Oh, yes, she definitely can. She kept me from buying crotchless panties and garter belts with stockings, too, because she said you would find them tacky."

I giggle, even if my face heats up a little at the thought. "Well, she was perfectly right. No crotchless panties for me!"

Edward sighs wistfully, and his soft lips touch my neck. "Oh, well, a guy can dream, right?"

I pull away, and start walking again, towards the college bookstore. "That's it. I'm getting you a gift, Edward Masen, and you don't get a say in what it's going to be!"

With the vague idea that I want to mark Edward as mine, I drift into the men's section of the store with him trailing reluctantly behind. I look at t-shirts, running shorts and hooded sweaters until I find something that I think might be perfect.

"Try this on, Edward!" He looks doubtful.

"Bella, I don't know…" I scowl at him.

"No buts and ifs, just try it on already!"

Slowly, he eases his arms into the jacket. It's made of wool and leather, blue, white and yellow, with the University of California logo on the back. It's too warm for the summer season but perfect for fall. He buttons it and turns around with his arms outstretched, modeling it for me. "It doesn't feel like it's really me, Bella. What do you think?" I stare at him, mesmerized.

"Why, you look like something out of a fifties movie, Edward. You look like a young James Dean! No, I mean someone much more handsome than James Dean but still with that bad-boy-gone-good vibe." I don't even know what I'm rambling on about, I just know that in this jacket, with his short haircut and the hair in front tumbling forward, Edward looks like a movie star and good enough to eat. He smirks at me.

"Come on, Bella, am I a bad boy gone good now? Did you save me from myself?" I walk up to him and hug him, feeling the unfamiliar smell of leather and new material over his own.

"I wish I could, Edward," I whisper, meaning it with all my heart. After a beat, he hugs me back and answers in a low voice, "Maybe you did."

After overriding Edward's protests that the jacket is too expensive and he doesn't need it now, I buy it and have it bagged before walking back to the car.

"So, what next?" Edward asks as he slides into the seat beside me and fastens his seatbelt.

"Well, I think we should leave the car by the hotel first, because driving downtown won't save us much time. I think we'll do sightseeing better on foot. Maybe I should change my shoes, though." I muse, as I feel the unfamiliar heels on my feet when I press down on the accelerator. Edward looks down at my shoes and shakes his head.

"No, don't do that, Bella, please. I love you in heels. I promise I'll carry you on my back if your feet get sore from walking."

I pout, but keep my eyes on the road. "I might just have to hold you to that promise, you know?" I quip. I can hear the smile in his voice without looking.

"You know I'd carry you in my arms to the end of the world, right?"

I shake my head, ruefully. "I hope I won't have to hold you to _that _one!"

Once we've parked the car, we walk the block back to the hotel. This is just so we can drop off the bags and I can grab a pair of comfortable shoes to take with me, just in case. We walk across Union Square, and then a block or so until we get to the Marriott Marquis. I've picked this spot to begin our evening because their bar overlooks the city.

It's still early, so the bar is not at all crowded. After walking around the place to get a good look at the view, we find a table by one of the floor-to-ceiling windows. I order a virgin Strawberry Daiquiri and Edward asks for a ginger ale. When I shoot him a look he shrugs and smiles.

"I'm not a big drinker, and I'm saving myself for dinner. Have you made plans for where we're going?" I nod.

"I thought it would be nice to try some seafood down at the bay so, even if it's cheesy, I've booked us into a restaurant on Fisherman's Wharf. All the tourists go there, but the food is pretty good, and they've got a beautiful view of the water."

When our drinks arrive, we sip them quietly for a while. I allow myself to relax into the soft seat, peeking at Edward without wanting to seem too obvious. I can't believe I'm sitting here on top of the world, feeling relatively glamorous in the company of this good-looking young man. I jump a little when he asks me, "So, how did your talk with Dr. Cope go?" I sit up straighter and try to sort out an answer.

"Yes, well, she put my mind at ease completely about the fact that I'm welcome back at the department, and there'll be no trouble with my absence this semester." I pause, staring into the red depths of my drink.

"Actually, there's an option to stay on in England for the spring, too, but I don't have to decide right now. Frankly it doesn't seem attractive to me at this point. The fall semester would probably be quite enough time for what I want to do." I look up at him, and there's a stricken look on his face that he immediately tries to erase when he sees me looking at him. He clears his throat and crosses his long legs, feigning nonchalance.

"So you've definitely made up your mind about going, then?" Guilt stabs at my stomach, because suddenly there's this vulnerable look to the set of his mouth, like a child who's been terribly disappointed but is polite enough to try and hide it from the grown-ups.

"Edward, I've already told you that I don't _want_ to leave you. There's nothing I want more than for you to go with me to England. I could easily pay for your ticket, and I'm sure you could stay with me, at least for a while. I don't know yet what my living accommodations will be, but here's the thing: if you're not willing or able to get a passport, you won't be able to travel abroad with me. So, the real question is, what's more important to you, hiding from possible detection or taking the risk and seeing what happens by coming with me?" He sits very still, as if he's processing my words. He replies in a low voice without meeting my eyes.

"You're absolutely right, and I'm not complaining, Bella, believe me. You should go, there's no doubt in my mind about it." He looks up at me, and the evening light hits his face. His eyes are glowing; they're as green as grass and they're sad, but also sincere. He attempts a smile, but I can tell that his heart isn't in it.

"Maybe, if everything works out, I'll be able to come and visit you later. Or once you get back, if you still want to we can meet up here in San Francisco. It seems like a good place to be."

I lean forward and squeeze his leg. "You know I'm not letting you go, Edward. As long as you want me to, I'll always be here for you. Always." He puts his hand on top of mine and then picks it up to press a brief kiss to my knuckles.

"I know," is all he says, but his face speaks volumes. Gratitude, desire, regret, love – it's all there. We've come such a long way in this short time, and yet there are bridges to be crossed or burned waiting ahead. When the waiter asks us if we want another drink, we both shake our heads in unison. With one last look out over the city, we return to the elevators. Edward picks up my jacket from the chair where I absentmindedly left it and gently wraps it around my shoulders.

We slowly amble up toward Chinatown, stopping to look into interesting shop windows. We sample tiny cups of expensive green tea in an exclusive tea shop and browse through touristy gift shops with everything from cheap keyrings to beautiful china. We walk through a grocery store where we make a game of guessing what the Chinese characters mean and what they're really selling. When we get tired of walking, we catch one of the trams. Edward stands on the step outside, while I sit inside and watch him grin as the wind whips his hair into his eyes when we start descending the steep hill towards the harbor. This is one of the things I love about San Francisco; when the view from a hill suddenly opens up and you see the sea or the city landscape spread out before you. Twilight is settling over the city and the sky darkens as we get off the tram.

Soon we're walking along the wharf, weaving in and out through the crowds of people who are enjoying the summer evening. My hand is tightly clutched within Edward's warm one. The wind off the sound is cooler, though, and I pull my jacket closer around me. Edward senses my discomfort and instinctively pulls me into his body so that I'm sheltered under his arm. He matches his longer strides to fit mine. I wrap my arm around his waist and enjoy the warmth radiating from his body.

Suddenly the people ahead of us part. There, not twenty feet away, James is strolling towards us along the sidewalk, dressed in a silver grey suit with his hands in his pockets. He's looking idly out at the street where cars are gliding by, negotiating the people trying to cross the street at intervals. I stop dead in my tracks as if struck by lightning, and Edward jerks to a stop, too, surprised by my movement. Before I have time to weigh flight against fight, James turns his head. His gaze passes over me, then stops and swivels back, quick as a snake's strike. He stops, too. For a second or two, we just stare at each other while people move in and out of the space between us, jostling us and giving us irritated glances. Edward looks at me, then over at James, waiting for an explanation.

"Bella?" James is the first one to speak. He closes the distance between us. His eyes betray his awareness of Edward standing there with his arm wrapped around me, yet he has still to make eye contact with him. He smiles down at me, and it's the smile I remember: charming, but slightly predatory. The smile of a man who is used to getting what he wants.

"So, you're back in San Francisco? I didn't know. Are you coming back to teach another semester at Berkeley?"

I swallow and try to stand up straight. I clutch at Edward's hand, which is still resting on my shoulder, for moral support. I've had nightmares about this moment, but it never happened like this. In my nightmares I never had Edward with me – and now I do. It makes a world of difference.

"Hello, James. I didn't expect to meet you here. What brings you out with all the tourists?" My voice is low but firm and I don't think it betrays my nervousness. James raises his eyebrow, signaling that he's noticed I answered his question with a question.

"Not my scene, huh? No, you're right, as usual. I've just wrapped up a rather embarrassing business dinner early. We had guests from out of state and they insisted on dining at the famous Fisherman's Wharf, even though we told them this is not the place to go for good food. What about you? Are you dining out?" For the first time, his eyes flicker over to Edward, and I see the shadow of some kind of emotion pass over his face. I would like to gloat and think that it's jealousy, but sadly I think it's plain relief. Crazy ex-wife is safely pawned off onto some other trusting guy, which means she won't start pining after ex-husband and possibly make trouble. I clutch Edward's waist tighter with my arm, possessively. Oh, I can be possessive, too.

"Yes, we're only here briefly, so we thought we'd take the scenic route and have dinner by the water. You're working hard, as usual?" I raise my chin and arch my eyebrow. I wonder where his new girlfriend/wife is stashed away, but I don't see Victoria's flaming red hair anywhere when I scan the crowd. Maybe she, too, has better things to do than hang on James' arm? Good for her.

James eyes flicker sideways, as if trying to figure out what I'm looking for, then he gives Edward a quick up-and-down before focusing his clear blue eyes on me again. "You know me, Bella. It takes a lot of time to stay on top of things, which is where I like to be." His smile makes this an innuendo, and I feel Edward take a step forward, as if he wants to put himself between us. "You haven't found a new place to stay in town then, I take it? If you need some help finding a house, I'm sure Keith Laurent would be happy to give you some names. If you leave your contact information with him and tell him I referred you, I'm sure you'll be sorted in no time."

Inwardly I seethe, but outwardly I keep my face and demeanor calm. No reason to give him a reaction, if that's what he wants. Although I'm sure he might be quite unaware of what a supercilious asshole he sounds like. I clear my throat and squeeze Edward's hand reassuringly.

"I've been visiting at Berkeley, but I won't be going back there in the fall. Actually, I've received a Fulbright Scholarship to spend next semester doing research and teaching in England." I feel a sort of defensive pride telling James this. It's my I-told-you-so moment. It means he didn't have the final word on my academic aptitude.

James looks amused, but not derisive. Overall, he seems decidedly more mellow than I remember. I wonder briefly if he's drunk. I can't help but ask, "Are you driving?"

He shakes his head, smirking at me now. "Bella, Bella, always so concerned for the well-being of others. No, I'm waiting for my driver to turn up. Since we quit early he wasn't anywhere near here when I called, so he warned me it might take a while. England, huh?" He looks at me intently, and I can feel Edward shuffling his feet beside me. "It's what you've always dreamed of. Congratulations, Bella."

I realize that I still haven't introduced Edward. Somehow I let James trick me into allowing him to make Edward invisible by studiously ignoring him. I abruptly let go of Edward's hand to angle my body and make introductions. I wave my hand between them.

"This is Edward Masen, by the way. Edward, this is James Hunter, my ex-husband." Edward takes James' proffered hand, and for a second they silently stare each other down, hands clutched in a firm grasp, as if they're engaged in some primitive pissing contest. Then James smiles, and lets go, putting his hands back in his pockets again. He rolls back on his heels, his eyes wandering back to me, slowly looking me up and down. I refuse to be intimidated. His opinion of me doesn't matter anymore, I tell myself. It never should have.

"I must say you look good, Bella. Much better than when I last saw you. Not quite so … zombielike." Edward tenses beside me, and I am suddenly filled with rage. I feel like screaming, "Well if you hadn't been such a prick to me, I would never have turned into one of the walking dead!" But really, I know that the truth is more complex than that. James behaved like an asshole, but he didn't cause everything that has happened to me. I'm not just a victim, I claim responsibility for my own actions, too.

I grit my teeth, and answer with false politeness. "Thank you. You look good, too. You didn't bring Victoria with you tonight?" Not that I ever want to see that pretty airhead again.

James's eyes shift away from my face, and suddenly he looks tired, more his actual age. He shrugs.

"Victoria and I aren't seeing each other anymore. As it turns out, we wanted … different things." He smiles at me again. "We parted as friends some months ago. Much like you and me." I am too baffled by his interpretation to contradict him. Who cares, anyway? If he wants to delude himself into thinking that we had a "friendly divorce," that's fine with me. I was there, so I know what happened.

"Well," I say, trying to wrap up this awkward conversation, "it was nice seeing you again, and I hope you have a pleasant evening. We probably won't meet again, since we're leaving tomorrow. Take care."

James takes a step forward, puts his hand on my shoulder and kisses me on the cheek briefly. His lips are cool and dry. "Where are you staying?" he asks.

My mind is reeling from the unexpected physical contact. A whiff of his aftershave has thrown me for a loop, back in time. "The Chancellor Hotel," I blurt out.

He steps back, out of range, and looks over my shoulder into the street as the phone in his pocket starts ringing.

"Well, I think I see my ride. Have a good trip back tomorrow and enjoy England, Bella." He looks me in the eye, and this time his voice is serious. "You deserve it. You may not think so well of me now, but I believe I actually did you a favor asking for a divorce. You had tied yourself to the sinking ship of our marriage and you were prepared to go under with it. Someone had to kick you off the boat and into the cold water. I'm glad I had the guts to do it."

Before I can frame a reply to this outrageous statement, he flicks his gaze over to Edward. "Goodbye, Mr. Masen. It's been a pleasure. Take care of Bella, will you?" With these unconventional words of goodbye from an ex, he's off. Gliding across the street, he opens the door to a black Audi that's hovering on the other side, its tinted windows as inscrutable as his retreating back.

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**A/N: Whew! So now, that's over and done with! Some of you suggested that James should get a chance to see Bella happy with Edward, and this was my solution - I hope it gave you some of the satisfaction you were looking for? What do you think of James? Is he the villain of the story? Is his interpretation of the divorce genuine or just an attempt to rile Bella up? Do you have an old ex you would like to have closure with? Leave me a note, if you can!**


	40. Chapter 40

**A/N: Disclaimer - Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. I can't thank my wonderful beta, Trekgeezer, enough for editing this chapter for me! All remaining errors are my own! **

**Unfortunately, my beta will be otherwise employed for the next couple of weeks, so I'm thinking about doing a time out and skipping one (1) Friday update. Please don't worry, we'll be back on track in no time! On another note: Wohoo! Celebrating 300 reviews - to me, that's amazing! Thank you for reading and for responding!**

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_I have called you children  
I have called you son  
What is there to answer  
If I'm the only one  
Morning comes in Paradise  
Morning comes in light  
Still I must obey  
Still I must invite_

_If there's anything to say_  
_If there's anything to do_  
_I there's any other way_  
_I'd do anything for you_

_I was dressed in embarrassment_  
_I was dressed in white_  
_If you had a part of me_  
_Will you take your time_  
_Even if I come back_  
_Even if I die_  
_Is there some idea_  
_To replace my life_

_Like a father to impress_  
_Like a mother's mourning dress_  
_If we ever make a mess_  
_I'll do anything for you_

Sufjan Stevens: For the widows in Paradise, for the Fatherless in Ypsilanti

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**EPOV**

The only thing stopping me from clocking James right in his smug face is the awareness that he would probably love to call the police and have me arrested for assault; and that wouldn't help Bella one bit. So, instead I clench my teeth and tell myself to shut up and wait it out, while he patronizes Bella in the worst possible way. It's as if he still thinks he has some kind of claim over her. He's better-looking than I had hoped: his sleek, fair hair and well-groomed appearance somehow reminds me of Carlisle, in a weird way. Though, where Carlisle's face is kind, James' is cold. Carlisle is empathetic and James seems self-absorbed.

There's something about the way he looks at Bella that I definitely don't like. It's as if she were a thing of beauty that he owned, but had somehow overlooked for a while. Now he's suddenly eager to possess it and flaunt it again. It's obvious that he's ignoring me because he can't stand to see Bella tucked under my arm, so I find a certain perverse joy in the way she instinctively creeps closer to me.

At the same time, I can't help feeling a tiny bit sorry for the motherfucker; he had his chance well and good and he totally blew it. The tired lines around his eyes and mouth, and the shadow of sadness I think I see when he turns away, somehow makes me think he knows it, too. Bella draws a deep breath when he leaves, and I pull her into a hug, kissing the top of her head.

"Are you okay, Bella?" She shakes her head.

"I'm fine. It was just a little bit of a shock, running into him here. But it wasn't bad, really. I'm so glad we were together when it happened, that's all." She looks up at me, and there is that sweet smile again. Just like that, she makes me feel loved.

"I wanted to punch him for talking like that to you, Bella," I tell her. "If that's the way he treated you when you were married, I don't get how you could stand to be around him for so long." I stroke her cheek, and she catches my hand and kisses my palm, before she starts walking again, swinging our clasped hands between us. Her voice is low.

"He wasn't all bad, not all the time. And in a long-term relationship, I think you sometimes get desensitized to how you treat one another. We took each other too much for granted, instead of challenging each other's faults."

I shake my head, pulling her closer to me, to avoid being separated by the milling of people on the sidewalk.

"Don't do that, Bella, don't give him any credit. He said you 'parted as friends' – excuse me, but what the fuck was that?" I feel the anger starting to rise inside me again.

"You had nightmares about him when we met; how is that normal? You said he didn't abuse you, but he treated you like shit, didn't he?" My fingers tighten around her hand unconsciously, and she gently reminds me by flexing her fingers within my too-tight grasp. I quickly relax and suck in a deep breath to ease the tension in my stomach.

"Sorry," I mumble. She looks at me with a gleam in her eye.

"Edward, it's your birthday dinner, okay? Don't let this spoil anything. It's all in the past now, and this is just you and me enjoying tonight together." I exhale and force a smile. Yes, it's just us now, and that feels damned good. Before we enter the restaurant, I pull Bella aside and kiss her, a slow, sweet kiss. She relaxes into my body.

As I end the kiss and touch my lips to the tip of her nose, I whisper, "This may be my birthday dinner, but you're the one getting a present tonight." She laughs, a short, breathy laugh, and as we walk into the light and bustle of The Franciscan, I feel proud of myself, of the person I am when I'm with her. I'm a person who can cherish her, make her laugh and feel protected and desired. That's the kind of man I always wanted to be, and with Bella I am.

* * *

Waking up with Bella is one of my favorite parts of the day, so when I roll around in bed next morning and feel nothing but cool sheets, I quickly sit up and look around for her in our hotel room. I see a leg kick up above the bottom of the bed, then slowly lower itself again. When I roll out of bed and stand up, I see her. Bella is on the floor, in panties and a tank top, doing yoga. She looks up at me, a drop of sweat running down between her eyes, and gives me a quick, apologetic smile.

"Hey," she pants out, "I hope I didn't wake you? I just felt guilty because I haven't exercised in a while." She turns around on her other side and resumes her combination of kicks and slow movements, which gives me an excellent view of her ass. I settle down on my stomach on the bed to watch, resting my chin on my folded arms.

"Don't mind me. I'm your captive audience," I say, yawning, then groaning as I watch the curve of her ass cheeks and the flexing of her thigh muscles. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack, by the way? Because you're doing a great job of it." She doesn't reply, and after another couple of minutes of torture I retreat to the bathroom for a shower to calm myself down. When I come out again, I'm met by another lovely sight: skimpily dressed Bella with a sheen of sweat all over her body, panting and breathlessly heading for the shower. She squirms out of my grasp when I try to pull her to me.

"No! Please Edward, I feel disgusting. Just let me clean up, will you?" I pout but let her go.

"You know, that's how you normally look after we've made love and I don't find anything about it disgusting," I tell her through the closed bathroom door, but I give her the privacy she needs. While she showers and dresses I pack my bag. Then, I start collecting her stuff and putting it on the bed, although I know she prefers to pack her own bag. I smile when I pick up the grey t-shirt Bella wore to bed last night from the floor. She loves men's clothing, but lately she hasn't been able to keep her hands off my t-shirts, either. Usually she picks up one of the clean ones I put on after work and then wears it to bed for a couple of days. When I asked her why, she blushed and said she loved that they smelled like me. Hell, what guy wouldn't find that a turn-on?

She comes out of the bathroom with pink cheeks, smelling of strawberries, and I have a hard time keeping my hands to myself when I see her. I remember her wanton moaning last night and the taste of her on my tongue. Sometimes I think I enjoy giving her pleasure more than I enjoy taking my own. It makes me feel incredibly powerful when she's squirming beneath me, calling my name. Those are the only times I'm not completely lost in her, still able to mentally take in exactly what she's doing to me. I wonder if this kind of obsession fades with time. It must, or else our country wouldn't be functioning because everyone would stay in bed screwing each other's brains out!

Today we're checking out of the hotel and will do some sightseeing around town before heading south again. I've left it up to Bella to plan the day because, really, I'm happy just to be with her and I know nothing of San Francisco. Last night at the restaurant we looked out on the Bay. The sea looked like silver in the flashes of moonlight whenever the clouds parted, with Alcatraz visible as a shadow far out on the water. I realized then that this is something I truly appreciate; a city on the water. I think I could make San Francisco my new home, as long as I know that Bella's here.

I don't know much about seafood, but we ordered lobster, shrimp and clams. Although I ate most of it, Bella tasted some of it with me and seemed to be enjoying it as much as I did. She left most of the sparkling wine she ordered to me. It was lucky we lingered over our meal as long as we did, or my head would have been spinning too much for me to be much use to her when we got back. I have been trying to keep away from all kinds of stimulants since the end of last year and I'm not as good at holding my liquor as I used to be.

Once Bella is ready to go, I take care of the bags and we leave the room. There are more people checking out and while we wait I scan the lobby and stroll outside to take a look at the weather, which is sunny but still windy. It's much cooler here than in LA, which is something I appreciate. When I return, Bella seems to be arguing with the desk clerk.

I walk up to her and ask, "Is something wrong?" Bella turns to me, confused.

"They say that someone left a package for me here earlier this morning, but I don't get it. No one knew we were staying here. Did you tell anyone?" I shake my head, slowly.

"What is it, then?" I ask and nod at a brown paper parcel with Bella's name written on it that's resting on the desk. "Maybe if you open it there will be a card or something to explain it inside?"

Frustrated, Bella impatiently pulls the paper off, and freezes when she sees what's in there. It's an iBook, brand new, with a case, and a card. Slowly, Bella opens the envelope and reads the words on the simple white card. Then she looks at me, a little pale.

"It's from James. It's a going-away gift for England." I feel like I've been punched in the stomach.

"What does he want?" I say, through clenched teeth.

Bella just shakes her head. "Nothing, I think. That's all, just a going-away gift." She holds out the card for me to read. I take it and look at the sloping, careless handwriting, clearly that of a man who's seldom been asked to write legibly.

_Bella - It was good seeing you again. I'm glad that you're doing well and that you're finally headed to England. Here is a small gift for your trip that I think you may find useful. Please don't hesitate to contact me when you return to San Francisco, should you be so inclined. James _

I return the note to Bella without comment, but in my gut I feel suspicious of James' intentions. He's trying to get a foot in the door, most likely because he's not ready to let go completely of the woman he's been tied to for fifteen years. I want to say something about abusive exes who keep turning up, but the words stick in my throat. I may want to protect Bella, but it's up to her to tell me if she thinks she needs protection.

Bella slowly places the computer inside its case and packs it away in her bag before settling the bill and thanking the staff for their trouble. I let her walk ahead of me to the car; she's seemingly deep in thought. When I've put the bags in the trunk of the car, I open the door for her before getting in myself. She looks over at me with a small smile.

"It's not worth brooding about, Edward. It's what James has always done; he's used to buying things as a response to what he sees as a possible problem. I'm just surprised that for once he gave me something I can really use, instead of something that's just expensive. Maybe he's changed, too."

As she starts the car she asks me, "Is it okay if we pick up breakfast to go today? I want to drive by the Public Storage down on Geary Boulevard before we go anywhere else. I need to check on my things. Then I think you said you wanted to see the Golden Gate Bridge, right?" She grins at me, and my heart feels lighter.

"You're my tour guide today, Miss. I'm completely in your hands," I reply, touching her cheek briefly before relaxing in my seat. It's the only place I want to be.

By the time we get to the bridge, it's midmorning and the fog that hung over the Bay earlier has magically lifted. We park the car at the lookout-point on the other side of the bridge and join the tourists who are taking pictures. The sun is hot in a summer sky, which is infinity blue, but the wind from the water keeps the temperatures pleasant. Bella points out the rainbow that's painted above the entrance to the road tunnel and I point out a rainbow-colored kite that hangs from one of the steel cables on the bridge. The rainbow is a symbol of hope, right? Maybe San Francisco is a place where your hopes come true.

An elderly lady dressed in pink kindly offers to take our picture with San Francisco in the background, and we pose hand in hand by the wall. It strikes me that I don't have any pictures of Bella, and I quickly remedy that by snapping her picture repeatedly on my phone, at the bridge, with the Bay and then the city skyline in the background. She's clearly not comfortable being photographed, but since I keep teasing her the whole time, she finally gives in and laughs at me. I get the best picture of all, relaxed and happy Bella.

From the bridge we go to Ashbury Heights, where we leave the car to walk around, people-watch and look in some retro stores. I become engrossed in a place that sells mainly records and comic books, and spend forever browsing the second-hand Marvel comics and old LP records. We stop to have lunch at a Chinese place that specializes in dumplings, which is something I haven't tried before. It's not until I'm starting to feel alarmingly full that Bella alerts me to the fact that you don't _have_ to accept every conceivable type of dish that they present to your table.

Then we move on to Golden Gate Park to walk off our lunch. We stroll around the Botanical Garden and visit the Japanese Tea Garden for some tea and rice cookies. The delicate buildings and the graceful, carefully planned interplay between walks, water and trees makes it feel as if we've entered a different culture. I wonder briefly what it would be like to visit Japan in reality someday.

I would probably never have done any of these things on my own, but with Bella everything is different and captivating. Sometimes she seems small and fragile to me but then at times like these I see a vibrant, fearless woman filled with energy and ideas. She knows the names of flowers and she tells me stories from Anglo-Saxon myths and folklore while we walk along paths in a forest with giant trees that looks as if they grew out of a fairytale. Bella ends up exchanging email addresses with the girl who works in the record store whom, it turns out, has won a local Poetry Slam-contest and is interested in studying creative writing at the university.

By the time we get back in the car, it's early afternoon. Bella stills, her hand hovering above the key to the ignition. She looks over at me and hesitates visibly.

"What is it, Bella? Is something wrong?" I ask.

She shakes her head and bites her lip before replying. "There's just one thing I'd like to do before we leave, but if you're not okay with it, you have to tell me." She draws a deep breath. "I'd like to visit Lily's grave." Before I can reply, she rushes on. "I usually go there twice a year, on her birthday and on the day she died, but this spring I was in California, so I missed it. I'd just like to go there and leave some flowers, if that's okay? You don't have to come with me if you're uncomfortable."

I gently put my fingers on her lips to stop her from saying anything else. "Ssshh, Bella. It's fine. I have no problem with that. Of course you should see Lily before we go. I'll come with you. Is it far from here?"

She shakes her head. "No, it's to the south, but it's pretty much on our way. It's a really beautiful place, peaceful." As she pulls out and starts driving, inevitably my mind drifts back to what she told me about her time with Lily. I can't imagine what it would feel like, to have a child of your own body and then lose her. I know I had an older brother who died when I was small, but I was too young to remember him, really. Esme told me that my birth parents were devastated by his death. I feel guilty every time I think about it, because I couldn't help save him and because I couldn't replace him; and then they were all gone. Esme, Carlisle and Alice were my second chance at a family, and I failed them, too.

We stop on the way to buy flowers, and Bella picks out a small bouquet of daisies and delicate pink rose buds. The flowers sit on the backseat of the car on our way to the cemetery, like the ghost of the little girl whose grave we are going to visit.

The cemetery is like a private park, with green lawns, little ponds, statues and beautiful trees. Bella leads the way. We walk up to a golden white sandstone wall inscribed with names; here we find hers, "Lily Marie Swan Hunter".

Bella is quiet for a moment, then says, "It was James' idea to have her cremated. He thought it would be more practical than to have a cemetery plot to care for." She swallows. "I was fine with it, though. I didn't want to think of Lily lying alone in a coffin in the ground. It was bad enough to see her like that at the funeral home." I put my arm around Bella's shoulders, carefully, since I'm not sure if she wants to be touched right now. She leans into me without hesitation. I take a step closer to the wall and touch the cool stone, tracing a letter in Lily's name.

"Lily Marie – was that her full name?"

Bella nods. "Marie is my middle name, too, but Lily's last name was Hunter. I asked James why he put both our family names there, but he said it was to acknowledge the fact that we made her together."

I don't know what to make of that, whether it's an insensitive or a loving thing for him to say, so I just stand there with Bella, giving her the privacy of her own thoughts. There's a wind high in the tops of the trees, and the noise of traffic outside the cemetery, but it's surprisingly quiet. There are very few people around. I stare at the names on the wall, and imagine Alice's name on a wall like this. I wonder briefly where she is buried. I wonder what her funeral was like – I'm both deeply sad and relieved that I wasn't there to see it. A cold shiver runs along my back and I recall the expression "someone just walked across my grave." Maybe Alice's ghost drifted by for a moment.

As if she's reading my mind, Bella suddenly asks, "Did you get to say goodbye to Alice?" My shoulders go rigid. Did I say goodbye? I think of the blood, the shock when I found her, the ambulance, the frantic calling to find Carlisle and Esme, and the devastation on their faces when we met at the hospital. I didn't stop to think, I just left them there. I was cold and sick to the core of my being. There was nothing left, no reason to say goodbye to anyone.

"No," I say, "but I've been saying goodbye to her in my mind ever since."

"What about your parents?" Bella doesn't look at me, but leans into my stiff body.

"I didn't stay. I couldn't tell them the truth. I left them at the hospital. They were too distraught to even notice when I was leaving. It was better that way." Once again I feel that black shadow of hopelessness and self-loathing roil through me like a sickness, but I push it down. I don't want to remember who I've been, who I am. I don't want to be that person anymore. A huge hand is squeezing my heart, making my pulse speed up and my breaths short. When Bella puts both her arms around me and presses her face into my shoulder, I force myself to relax, to breathe deeply and to be there for her. I can't help myself, but I can maybe be what Bella needs me to be.

We slowly wind our way out of town on the highway, along with the people leaving town for the weekend. We take the nearest path down to Highway 1 again. Driving along the coast is just as beautiful going south, and after a couple of hours the sun starts sinking low on the horizon, coloring the ocean and the mountains with a warm golden light. I take the wheel for an hour so that Bella can just relax and enjoy the view.

When we arrive in Cambria again, it's slowly getting dark. The little motel where Bella has booked us for the night is right by a creek. After leaving our bags in the room, we take a walk outside. The small stream whispers to us down below in the ravine among the trees. The lady who welcomed us at reception said that they had a surprisingly heavy rainfall last night. It seemed to have replenished the stream, which is normally only a trickle in the summer. We stand in the dusk outside our room and listen to the water and the crickets, inhaling the green summer smells drifting up from the cooling ground. I have Bella within the circle of my arms and I think that if we could stay like this, I would have everything I need forever.

We make slow, sweet love that night, and when I wake up in the darkness of the early morning, she is still curled against my side. I rest my hand on her ribcage and whisper "I love you" into the dark and silent room. The hypnotizing slow ebb and tide of her soft breathing under my palm is what pulls me back to sleep again.

Because it's Saturday, we sleep in and snack on blueberry muffins, coffee and tea in the lobby before hitting the road again. It's cloudier today, and Bella asks if I want to do a detour to look at Hearst Castle up in the foothills, instead of driving straight back home. We end up buying tickets to the tour that starts immediately after lunch. After a quick sandwich in the cafeteria, we climb on board one of the cramped tour buses winding its way up through the hills. I have no idea what to expect, although Bella tells me that Hearst was a 1930s newspaper millionaire who collected stuff from all over the world. He built his own sprawling castle on the site where he used to go camping with his parents as a kid. Once we leave the bus and climb up past the vast swimming pool and guest houses, the view from up there is amazing, both towards the mountains and towards the sea.

When we're shown the bed where movie stars like Clark Gable slept when he came to stay, Bella squeezes my hand and whispers, "If you stretch out on the bed and let me take your picture, it will be like a time machine." I raise my eyebrows at her, because she isn't really making sense, plus the bed is roped-off and not meant for crashing on. But when she walks ahead of me with the rest of the group into the gigantic vaulted dining room, I sort of get the picture. In her slacks and thin white shirt, and with her long, dark hair twisted in a bun at the nape of her neck, Bella could easily be taken for a movie star from another age.

I run my hand up and down her bare arm as we listen to the tour guide tell us how Hearst's guests graduated from sitting in the center to being pushed farther and farther away from their host at the table. When they were sitting at the end of the table it was officially time to go home. Bella shivers, and I pull her in for a warming embrace. When we exit into the sun from the dark and stuffy-smelling rooms, I fill my lungs with the fresh air from the mountain breeze and breathe in the scent of sun, flowers and Bella.

"What do you think it would have been like, living with such opulence?" Bella asks me, sliding out of my grasp. I scratch my head and squint up at the sun that's breaking through the clouds. People are scattering around us to take some more pictures before catching the bus downhill.

"You're asking what difference I think it makes, having a lot of money?" I reply. This is something I know a little bit about. My mother and Esme's family had a lot of money. I spent summers in the grandparents' huge villa in Newport on the East coast, the kind of place where they had people come in to cook and clean every day. Carlisle and Esme both work hard and make good money, but not on _that_ scale. Our house in Oak Park is big and comfortable, but it's not a mansion. The only thing I know for sure is that money brings with it a lot of responsibilities and no protection against heartbreak, health problems or death. That's why I don't really mind the idea of walking away from it all. Money is important for putting food on the table and a roof above my head, but does it make a difference if I don't have a lot of money? No, money could never save me, not the way that meeting Bella did.

"I think money is only important up to a point. You need it for basic stuff, like food or health care, but when you make money like Hearst did, it loses its meaning in a way. Look at what he did; this crazy collecting of bits and pieces from all over the world to build a huge house no one can use. It seems like a colossal waste. Wouldn't it have been better if he had used that money on charities or helping poorer people get what they need?" I think about the Breakers and other houses in Newport, white elephants of the Gilded age that are museums today, filled with art and furniture acquired by America's first millionaires to impress their neighbors. What was the point of all that wealth?

Bella smiles at me. "So you don't believe in the trickle-down theory? You know, the idea that extreme wealth is good, because it eventually finds its way down to poor people, too?"

I shrug. "I know that producing, buying and selling is supposedly what's keeping our economy up and running. I guess I just don't see how Donald Trump buying his latest wife two Gucci bags instead of one will help homeless people anywhere."

Bella sneaks her arm around my waist as we start walking downhill to where the bus waits for us. "Oh, I agree with you, Edward, but people like Hearst sometimes save precious art by buying it and putting it on display for others to see. Sometimes having a lot of money means that you can do things for others that no one else wants to do, like researching new technology or preserving beauty for the world."

"So you're a diehard Republican, then?" I ask, half in jest. We've never discussed politics before, but Bella always struck me as someone who seemed uninterested in what goes on in Washington, DC. Bella wrinkles her nose and shakes her head.

"I voted for Obama, but I'm really not that involved in politics. I'm just a firm believer in helping others. That can be done in a great number of ways is all I'm saying." I hold her hand for support while she climbs onboard the bus, then squeeze myself down beside her on the seat and lean in for a quick kiss.

"I know you are. You helped me, remember?"

She leans her head on my shoulder as we follow the winding road down through the parklands where animals belonging to the Hearst estate roam free. When we get back to the car, I offer to drive her and she accepts.

For the rest of the ride I feel her gaze caress me, and whenever we stop, she leans over and touches me, my knee, my hair, my shoulder, my hand, and every time I capture her hand and kiss it. Music is playing on Bella's iPod, softly strumming guitars, and a man's voice singing words I barely hear. Whenever I look at her I believe I could forget myself and be reborn in those warm, brown eyes. She takes the pain away.

The car is a bubble of intimacy, bringing us through the wilderness of highways and anonymous buildings, dry creeks and scrawny bushes to our home. I remember the same feeling of security from my childhood, when Carlisle would drive us late at night and we fell asleep in the backseat of the car. Alice and I were lulled by the movement, the purring of the engine and the radio playing, safe from the darkness pressing against the windows. It's those times I remember us feeling like a family.

When we pull in at the house, the sun is low on the horizon, bathing everything in golden light. Bella unpacks and starts a load of laundry while I make a vegetable stir-fry with what I find in the fridge combined with some Chinese noodles. I've always enjoyed cooking. Even when I was a little boy, tagging after Esme and asking to help her with anything and everything, there was something soothing about hanging out in a kitchen, keeping my hands busy. Back then I never did much beyond basic stuff like scrambling eggs, heating soup or making noodles and tomato sauce, but since I got access to Bella's kitchen, I've expanded my horizons to reading cookbooks. Alice loved my grilled cheese sandwiches, though.

My heart contracts a little bit as I allow myself to remember small details about her: the way her hair smelled, how she used to bite her nails and how her body would contract, almost as if she wanted to take up as little space as possible, curling up into a ball on a chair or on the sofa. She was a mass of contradictions – introverted and acting out by turns, shy or sad one moment, screaming blue murder the next. She was like a nervous kitten, all irritating claws and aggressive sharp teeth, but at the same time tiny and vulnerable enough to be injured by a mere kick or a slap. I should have taken better care of her. I should have showed more compassion, more patience. I shouldn't have let her down.

When Bella puts her hand on my shoulder, I realize I've been standing there staring into the frying pan, mechanically stirring the vegetables round and round for several minutes, unaware of my surroundings.

"Are you all right, Edward?" Bella's voice is soft. There's a tightness in my throat.

"It's nothing. I … I just started thinking about Alice again." I quickly pull the pan from the heat and dump the vegetables into the bowl of noodles, mixing them in.

"Do you do that a lot? Think about her?" Bella sounds hesitant, careful and I don't want her to feel that way around me, so I look at her and give her half a smile.

"No, not too often. Most of the time I try my hardest not to. I dream about her a lot, though, about not being able to save her, bad dreams. But it's gotten better since I started sleeping with you." Now my smile is real, and she leans into me briefly before taking the bowl to the table.

I bring the plates and chopsticks, and Bella pours the water for us. She looks up at me, and I notice that her cheeks have a little more color than usual from our time out in the sun. I love her soft skin and the faint wrinkles on her cheek and around her eyes, testimony to her lovely smile. I lean forward and trace her cheek with my fingers. As I hoped, it brings out that smile. Her warm eyes crinkle, and the gold flecks in them dance in the lamp light.

"I love you." It's so easy to say it now; I don't know why I waited so long. If anyone had told me I would meet and fall in love with a woman in a matter of weeks, I would have laughed. But here I am, and she's sitting right in front of me, flesh and blood, inexplicably making my heart beat faster with just her smile.

Her smile is still warm, but her eyes are serious. "I love you, too, Edward, very much. You know you can talk to me about anything, right? If you want to talk about Alice, that's fine. I'm so glad you shared that with me, even though I know it's painful for you to think about it." She sighs. "God knows I've spent most of my life pushing unpleasant memories away, but I also know that talking sometimes helps, for some people. I just want you to consider that. If not to me, then I could help you find a counselor, someone you feel comfortable talking to."

I push the food around my plate, trying to get an angle with the chopsticks while I think it over.

"I don't know, Bella. I feel comfortable with you. If I don't talk to you, it's not because I don't trust you, more that I don't want to burden you with stuff I have a hard time dealing with myself."

She puts a hand on my arm. "That's what a counselor is for, someone whose feelings you don't have to spare. It's a professional who can take it if you cry or yell or freak out and whom you're not emotionally involved with. But I want to share your burdens, too, Edward, I really do. If we're going to be apart for several months, I'll want to know that you're okay and taking care of yourself or I will be going crazy worrying about you." She sits back, and takes a sip of water.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to talk to Rose about finding you someplace to live and maybe a better-paying job. It would be horrible if you were to end up on the street again for some reason, and I was too far away to know it or do anything about it." Her gaze is earnest and troubled and I love her all the more for caring about me like she does, but really…

I frown at her. "I don't know if I'm comfortable involving Rose in my business. She's your friend, and I can see that you trust her, but I would feel better if I could do things on my own." I give up on the food for a minute and lean back in my chair, trying to get a handle on my own thoughts and feelings.

"I can't come with you, and I don't want you to worry about me while you're gone, but I don't want to feel like I'm some sort of helpless kid passed around between your friends." Bella opens her mouth to protest, but shuts it again, giving me my say. I plow on.

"Look, Bella, I know I've made a lot of crappy decisions in the past and there are so many things I regret and wish that I could do over, but I feel as if this is my chance to start over. I don't really care about having money or an education. I only care about doing something I can do for myself that's useful and not a nuisance to other people. I want to be the best that I can be, for both you and myself." I lean across the table and capture her hands in mine.

"And I want you to come back to me. I know I don't have the right to ask anything of you, but the way I feel now, there's no question in my mind that I'll still be here waiting for you when you get back. You're the best thing in my life, Bella, and I never want to give that up."

We stare at each other, and there's a sheen of tears in her eyes.

"Crap. I feel so bad about leaving you, Edward." She blinks and scowls. "I'm sorry, I don't want to cry, but it's just … it's awful. Are we being stupid, do you think? I keep asking myself if it isn't kind of crazy to care about someone so much after such a short time. Or if I'm only feeling this way because on some level I know I can't have you, because I'm a sucker for punishment." She shakes her head and squeezes my hands, drawing a shaky breath.

"Hey," I say softly, stroking the hair that's escaped from her twist out of her teary eyes. "You have me, Bella, you do. I don't know if what we're doing is crazy stupid or not, but we're in it together. If something is wrong with you, then it's certainly wrong with me because I feel the same way. I hope I'm not freaking you out, but I can honestly say I've never felt this way about any girl I've been with before. It's scary, because I don't want to lose you. I look at you with guys like Tony, and I think, what on earth do I have to offer Bella compared to him?"

She starts to speak, but I shake my head at her and continue, "No, you don't have to explain yourself to me, or reassure me. Maybe I'm jealous, and, yes, I know it's stupid. I may not trust him, but I trust you. Look, I've got no idea why this has happened to us, or if it's going to work, but at least we both want to try and that's a good thing, don't you think?"

She nods, and sniffles. "Yes. Okay, you're right. So, let's stop questioning what this is and try to make plans, instead. You want to do things your own way, and you don't want to involve Rose, is that right?" Her eyes are still teary, but her chin is held high and she looks determined.

"Well, yes, I would prefer it if I could figure this out on my own. You've already done so much for me, both of you, that it makes me feel useless if I can't do anything for myself. Why don't I take a couple of days to think about it and ask around at work, and then we can talk about it again. Would that be okay?"

She nods. "I think you should give some serious consideration to how you could get an ID and a driver's license, though. It would make things so much easier for you if you're going to be looking for work or living in another part of L.A."

I shrug, and resume eating. The stir-fry is almost cold, but still pretty delicious, and I'm hungry. "It's no big deal. I'll figure something out. Besides, I don't have a car, and it will probably be a while before I can afford to buy one."

Bella picks at her food and blushes. "I was going to suggest that you take the Volvo." I look up at her, surprised. She continues, "I mean it's going to be sitting in a garage somewhere while I'm away, anyway. It makes more sense if you use it. I could sign it over to you, if you want?"

I shake my head emphatically and put my free hand flat down on the table for emphasis. "No way am I taking your car, Bella. I don't care what you say, that's just … too much. Forget it." She doesn't insist, but I can see that little stubborn set of her mouth which means this isn't the last I'll hear of it. For someone so gentle, she can also be overwhelmingly resilient, and I hate saying no to her. We finish our meal in silence.

That night when we go to sleep in her bed, she lies with her head on my chest and her arm wrapped around my waist, her fragrant hair right under my nose. There's a peace I feel only when I'm surrounded like this by her warmth and her smell, a peace unlike anything else I've known. Faint sounds of traffic filter through the walls of the house, otherwise there's just our breathing and the hum of the air conditioning.

Bella mumbles against my chest, and I kiss the top of her head and whisper, "What did you say, sweetheart?" She sighs, and this time I hear her.

"I just thought about how, when I was younger, I didn't believe that boys had feelings. You know, because they never seemed to care about girls the way the girls cared about them. I thought they were just pretending, going through the motions." Her voice trails off, and I encourage her to finish her sentence.

"What were you going to say, Bella?"

Another sigh, then she whispers, "But when I'm with you I find myself wishing I was right. Because I don't want you to hurt the way I've been hurt before." Her arm around my waist tightens.

"Don't say that, Bella," I murmur into her soft hair, "you would never hurt me." She's quiet for a minute, then whispers, as if she doesn't want to disturb the silence of the room.

"People you love can always hurt you."

There's nothing I can say to that, so I pull her closer, until we're lying pressed against each other, our limbs entangled and breaths hot against each other's skin, as if an inch of space between us would mean separation. That's how we fall asleep, our bodies speaking what our voices can't say. "I won't ever leave you."

* * *

**A/N: So now we're safely back home again and we know a bit more about what's been going on in their lives before they met. What do you think: will Edward do okay on his own now? Will Bella? Will you, without your weekly update? Don't hate me too much, please! **


	41. Chapter 41

**A/N: Disclaimer - Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. This chapter hasn't been looked over by my beta, so I hope you'll bear with me!**

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_In the desert_

_I saw a creature, naked, bestial,_

_Who, squatting upon the ground,_

_Held his heart in his hands,_

_And ate of it._

_I said, 'Is it good, friend?'_

'_It is bitter – bitter', he answered;_

'_But I like it_

_Because it is bitter,_

_And because it is my heart.'_

Stephen Crane: The Black Riders

* * *

**Chapter 41.**

**EPOV**

Sunday I return to working the early shift at the café again, but since we open later on Sundays it's not too hard to drag my tired ass out of bed in the morning. I disentangle myself from Bella's limbs as carefully as I can and leave her mumbling in her sleep. Just as I'm about to leave the house, she calls my name from inside her bedroom and I can't resist the temptation of jumping her in bed, all soft and warm with her sleep braid coming undone and her cheek wrinkled from the pillow. She giggles as I cover her face and neck with kisses and give her tits a playful squeeze over her t-shirt before I, regretfully, have to leave for the day.

The beginning of the week moves along quickly. Sunday is a good day, sunny with a high breeze and huge white clouds moving majestically like ocean liners across the sky. The café is almost like a second home to me now and once the acute weirdness with Amy has been shoved out of the way I can relax and enjoy myself, even if most of the work is mindless and routine. When Kate comes in I find the time necessary to help her to finally master the program on her computer that keeps a check on her invoices and deposits. She's relieved and says she appreciates my patience, promising me a raise in July.

Once we've finished for the day, she leans back in her chair and sighs, scratching her head thoughtfully. I'm leaning against the wall, since the space behind the desk is really cramped and I'm tired of crouching on the floor beside her.

"So, Edward, I'm just going to ask you this straight out; did you talk to your family yet?" Kate is looking at me with searching blue eyes, and I feel my stomach twist. I'd almost convinced myself that we were past this and that she was going to let it go. I hesitate, then decide to lie some more.

"I talked to my aunt. My mom is staying with her. I haven't talked to her yet. She's okay. She's not with my stepdad anymore. I'm not going back there, at least not yet, but now she knows that I'm okay. That's what you wanted, isn't it?" I look at her, my jaw working, forcing myself not to clench my fists.

Kate just looks at me, then sighs and makes a little helpless gesture with her hands when I don't say anything else.

"Fine, Edward, but will you at least tell me if you know what happened with your stepdad: is he okay? Did he send the police after you?"

I shake my head, not leaving her with my eyes. People believe you more easily if you look them in the eyes when you lie.

"My aunt didn't know, but she said he was in the hospital for a week or so before he was released. The police talked to my mom, and she's pressing charges. I guess he's mostly busy dealing with that."

Kate purses her lips and starts shutting the computer down. "Shouldn't you be home, supporting your mom and dealing with the consequences of all this?"

I shrug. "I've spent very little time there since I started college, and my mom has got her sister and her family to support her. I'm staying here for the time being. This is my life now." I push off from the wall, walking around to the door to the office, but pause with my hand on the door handle.

"I don't know how much longer I'll be able to stick around after August, actually. Bella is leaving for England then and will be gone for four months or more, so I'll have to look for someplace else to stay. I don't know how hard it will be to find anything around here and I'll probably have to look for another job, too. If you know of anything, I'd be very grateful for your help."

Kate looks tired as she gets up and rubs a crick out of her neck, still looking at me with those blue eyes that are so hard to avoid. "I'm sorry to hear that, Edward. But I would also be sorry to see you go. I was hoping that you would be around for longer than just the summer. Tell me when you know more about exactly when you have to move out. I'll ask a couple of people and get back to you."

I nod at her and mutter a subdued "Thank you," before heading out of the office.

Monday I give Maryanne a call at lunch time and ask if I can come in and spend the afternoon at the piano. She's friendly and sounds happy to hear from me, so when I quit the café for the day I send Bella a text before I pick up a sandwich and head over to the bar immediately, not to waste any time.

This time when I press the button on the intercom there's a crackling noise and Maryanne's voice, tinny and far-away says, "Edward, come on up for a minute, will you. I just have to finish one thing." The door buzzes and I push it open and enter a dark stairwell that leads up to a second story landing with three doors. One of them is ajar, and I hear music, so I carefully knock before sticking my head inside.

"Maryanne? Are you in here? It's Edward." There's a smell of cookies drifting on the air, and Maryanne shouts out from a room on the left.

"In here! I have to take this last batch out of the oven in a minute."

I follow the sound, closing the apartment door behind me and walk into a rather small kitchen, with cabinets painted a violent green and a mismatched set of chairs with a kitchen table, all painted various shades of blue and green. Radiohead is playing on the stereo in another room, loud, but not loud enough to make conversation impossible.

Maryanne is barefoot, wearing low-rise skinny jeans and a black tank-top that looks as if it was made out of a t-shirt that someone took a pair of scissors to. There are white smudges on her clothes and face, and her dark hair is pulled up into a pony-tail, which is failing at keeping her hair in place and out of her eyes. She smiles at me, and it takes a while for me to figure out why she looks so different – she's not wearing her usual smoky eyes. Makeup-free, she looks about 18 years old, and I wonder again how old she really is.

"Hey. Good to see you. You're just in time for some freshly made cookies. Chocolate chip or peanut butter and pecan?"

I slide down on one of the chairs and wonder briefly if I should take my shoes off seeing as how my hostess is shoeless, but then my socks are probably smelly so I decide against it.

"You're making cookies," I say. "Wow."

She raises her eyebrows at me, before crouching down in front of the oven to check on the cookies again. Like the rest of the equipment in the kitchen the oven looks to be about twenty years old. The kitchen itself seems battered but pretty clean, but there are traces of baking on every surface and even flour on the floor. A pot with basil on the windowsill and a piece of turquoise gauze draped across the window for a curtain are the only signs of interior decoration.

"'Wow' as in you're impressed, or 'wow' as in you're surprised?" Maryanne asks, standing up and folding her arms across her chest, blowing hair out of her eyes. She glances over at the oven again. "Sorry to keep you, but this oven is sort of tricky and you have to watch it like a hawk. Sometimes it burns things up in no time while at other times it just takes forever to cook anything."

I shrug. "I guess I'm both surprised and impressed. Somehow I didn't think you were the cookie baking type." Maryanne grins at me, and quickly crouches down so that she can glance back and forth between me and the oven door.

"Aha, but see there is where you're starting to think in stereotypes! a) You probably think baking cookies is a girl thing, and I'm a girl. But, b) you think I'm not a pink-and-white, frilly-apron kind of girl so ergo: c) you assume I couldn't bake a cookie to save my life. Well, you're wrong. Oh, shit!"

Maryanne suddenly grabs the oven mitts lying on top of the cookie sheets filled with warm cookies and lunges for the oven door. As she pulls the tray with cookies out of the oven they look a little dark but absolutely not burned, and I hasten to mention how good they look when I see her frown. She shakes her head, impatient.

"Yes, sure, but I wanted to make sure the raisins in the oatmeal cookies didn't get that singed taste. Oh, well, we will just have to wait and see after they've cooled down a bit." She sighs and gingerly slides the cookie sheet off the hot tray onto the remaining free space on the kitchen table and turns off the oven after placing the tray back in again, empty this time.

She gestures to the generous piles of cookies and makes introductions, "Edward, meet Chocolate Chip, Peanut butter and Pecan and Oatmeal Raisin. Does anyone strike your fancy?" I eye them all hungrily.

"Hmm, they all look good, but if I have to pick one, chocolate chip is my favorite," I confess, feeling my mouth water as I sniff the warm, sugary smells. Maryanne points at me thumb and forefinger, cocking an imaginary gun before giving me another big smile.

"Chocolate chip it is. We'll bring some cookies downstairs, in case you're impatient to get started. There's a new carton of milk in the fridge if you want to bring that along. I prefer to eat my cookies with milk. You?"

I shrug. "Milk is fine. Anything else you need help with?" Maryanne is scuttling round the kitchen, collecting cookies in a Tupperware jar, brushing flour off her clothes.

"Nope. I'll just pick up my keys and a t-shirt. You can come along if you want to see the apartment."

She hurries out of the kitchen, down the hallway and into a living-room area with two old sofas, some armchairs, a flatscreen, a stereo and an X-box. There are different kinds of carpets on the hardwood floor, very loud paintings on the walls and a bookcase made from wooden planks and bricks, filled with paperbacks. The color scheme here seems to be some kind of dark blue and ochre. There are three doors, and Maryanne walks through one of them without checking to see if I'm with her.

I hesitantly peek through the doorway into a bedroom dominated by a huge bed, with a chest of drawers and another stereo on a low table by the window, the music playing from speakers in the corners of the room. The walls are a more muted green, with white cotton curtains at the window and a white quilt for a bedspread. Clothes are strewn across chairs and on the floor and Maryanne picks a red t-shirt up from the floor and slips it on, then walks across the bed in a couple of long strides with her naked feet to turn off the stereo and grab the keys sitting on the dresser, before turning around and bounding out the door again. I step back quickly before I have my nose scratched by her waving elbow.

"Do you like the apartment? We did it all ourselves, and with very little money. Everything we had went into the bar. I like it, though." Maryanne looks at me expectantly.

"Ummm, I'm not an expert or anything, but it seems very you," I blurt out. Apparently this was the correct answer because Maryanne beams back at me.

"Thank you. I'll tell Tony you said so. What about the paintings?" She gestures to the big paintings on the walls that are abstract studies in green, blue and brown which frankly feel a little disturbing – they're like a storm at sea. You almost expect them to burst out into the room when you're not looking directly at them.

"They're, um, interesting. I'm not so good at talking about art, but these feel very out there, if you know what I mean. They have a definite presence." I hope that's cryptic enough. Maryanne nods at me and seems satisfied.

"Yeah, that's what I was going for – maximum expression on the limited canvas given me. Sort of like life itself."

I look at her, incredulous. "You did these by yourself? I had no idea you were a painter." Maryanne shrugs, leaning against the wall, and hugs the box of cookies against her red midriff.

"I'm not a trained artist or anything, I just like to express my feelings through colors. It can be soothing."

I look at the swirls of paint and try to connect them to the word "soothing", but I guess what she's talking about is her own experience when painting them, not the effect her paintings are having on me now.

"Great, well, let's get moving. Don't forget the milk, Edward." Maryanne briskly pushes away from the wall and heads back down the hallway, slipping her feet into a pair of flip-flops by the door as she goes. I grab the milk from the fridge on the way out, wait politely for her to lock the door and walk ahead of me, and follow her downstairs.

The bar is dark and musty like I remember it, but once the lights are up it seems more cheerful. Maryanne takes the milk from me and rummages behind the bar, while I walk over to the piano and start warming up. It doesn't take long before I'm lost in my head again. I've made a list of songs I could probably do, and I've looked them up online and printed them out to make sure I get the chords and the lyrics right. Now I want to run them through both to make sure that it's a choice I can live with, and to familiarize myself with them. I have a very good memory, but once I get nervous there's no telling what might happen. The best thing is for me to get to the point where I could play even if someone were to roll me out of bed in the middle of the night. Once the music is in my fingers and in my backbone I can relax and just let it flow and then I'm free to improvise without getting confused or sidetracked.

I look up when I notice Maryanne who's approached me quietly and is leaning against the piano, watching me. She looks at me with serious eyes. "You don't mind if I stick around and listen, do you? I've got stuff to do so I won't be staring at you all the time, if that bothers you."

I shake my head with a smirk. "No problem. If I can't take it I should probably rethink this whole playing-in-front-of-an-audience idea, don't you think?" She smiles back at me, and I notice for the first time that her teeth are small, white and sharp-looking, like a cat's. She jerks her head towards the bar.

"Time for some cookies and milk. They're still warm."

I suddenly feel hungry. "Oh, sure, that's really nice of you." I eagerly follow Maryanne over to the bar where she's placed two glasses, the milk and the box of cookies. I get a brief flashback from my preschool days, coming home in the afternoon to a snack in the kitchen.

"This brings out memories," I say and smile at Maryanne. She makes a non-committal sound, stuffing her mouth with half a cookie. "What? You never had milk and cookies in the kitchen after school?" I mock her. To my surprise she shakes her head, swallowing before she speaks.

"Not really. My stepmom worked and we usually had to fend for ourselves. The only cookies I had came out of a box from the store, and they weren't a regular occurrence. My dad was at home when he was out of work but then he was usually in a bad mood, so we kind of kept out of his way."

I swallow, feeling bad for her. "That sounds like a pretty crappy childhood," I comment carefully.

Maryanne shrugs and picks up another cookie. "Yeah, you know, it was partly bad, partly okay. Everything is normal when you're a kid. It's just when you grow up that you realize that other people don't have exactly the same kind of life you have. That's when you get resentful." She scowls at the cookie before taking a bite of it.

"So, how did you and Tony meet?" I ask, to change the subject.

She takes out the clip from her ponytail and shakes out her hair, and I get the feeling that she's maybe used to hiding behind it.

"Oh, we come from the same neighborhood. Our families lived next door to each other, although Tony and his brothers were older than me so we didn't exactly hang out when we were kids." She smiles, but her smile seems sad. "They were part of the gang of cool older guys that we younger kids watched from afar. They got into trouble, stealing stuff, racing cars, drinking and fighting, but they seemed like they had a lot of fun. We all wanted to be like them."

"How much older than you is Tony, then?" I ask. It's really hard to tell people's age. Maryanne could be anything between 20 and 30 for all I know, but I'm pretty sure that Tony is in his thirties.

Maryanne drinks deeply from her glass of milk, and wipes the milky white rim from her upper lip with the back of her hand before replying. "I should ask you what you think, but it'll probably hurt my feelings, so I'll just tell you," she smirks. "Tony is 35 and I'm 28. He left home as soon as he was out of high school and got a job in another part of town, but he kept coming back to see his friends so I sort of kept tabs on him the whole time even if we didn't hang out together. We were all sort of milling around on the weekends in our different groups, the younger ones checking out the older ones, trying to crash their parties."

She pushes the cookies towards me, encouraging me to take another one, and I do. They are chewy and delicious and they give me something to do with my hands. I don't want Maryanne to stop talking because I want to know more about her and Tony.

"So what brought you together, if the age difference kept you apart?" I ask, breaking the cookie into smaller pieces so that I don't have to look her in the eye, betraying my burning curiosity. She is silent for a beat.

"Well, it's kind of a long story. I had a crush on him when I was a teenager, but he didn't know back then. He started looking out for me, though. I think for a long time he thought of me as a sort of baby sister, or cousin. Then he helped me get out of a crappy situation with my family and when I almost dropped out of high school my senior year I moved in with him. It wasn't ideal, but it helped me graduate. Much later we became a couple. But today we're just business partners and friends. That's pretty much it." She swipes her hand across the counter, wiping the cookie crumbles off the surface and gestures to my glass. "More milk?"

I stare at her. "No, thank you. Maryanne, did anyone ever tell you that you're a terrible storyteller?" Her eyes narrow, so I try to explain, "I just mean that you told me a lot of personal stuff there in five sentences without really telling me anything. You and Tony have been a couple and you're not anymore but you're still living together?"

Maryanne rolls her eyes. "I don't know why people always ask about that part! It's not as weird as you make it sound, okay? We have lived together for a long time and known each other pretty much all our lives, so we're like family, friends and lovers all rolled into one messy ball. Extracting the lover part was supposed to make it less complicated. And it is. Sort of. It's just hard to explain it to other people. Plus, I don't really have to explain myself to you anyway." She scowls at me and I put up my hands in the air.

"No, of course not, you're right. I'm sorry I asked." I clear my throat, embarrassed. "Actually, I asked mainly because I've been thinking that maybe Tony was showing an interest in Bella, and it didn't make sense if he was already in a relationship with you." I feel my cheeks warm as Maryanne stares at me silently for a long minute, her expression unreadable. "That was stupid. Forget I said anything," I mumble, and stand up to walk back to the piano again to try to lose myself in the music.

"Hey, Edward!" Maryanne's voice stops me sharply in my tracks. She's standing behind the counter with her arms crossed protectively across her chest, still staring at me. "It's not stupid. It's just not my concern, you know. Tony can be friends with whoever he chooses, just like you and me can be friends. I don't know how he feels about Bella, but you should ask him, not me. You're not worried, though, are you? Because it seems pretty obvious she's into you, not him, at least to me."

I nod my head and rub the heel of my hand across my brow. "Yes, I know. No, I trust her, it's not that. I just feel like I'm not good enough sometimes, you know? I get insecure." I laugh, frustrated. "I told you it was stupid! And I keep wondering what will happen when Bella leaves in the fall, if she'll meet someone else or if I …" I shut my mouth, reigning myself in. I don't really know this girl that well and I've got no reason to overshare.

Maryanne quickly ducks under the end of the counter and walks up to me. She softly bumps my chest with her half-closed fist and says, "Don't worry about it, I'm sure you guys will be fine." She shrugs and gives me a half smile. "And if you're not, well, you'll survive that, too. Shit happens. You're a big boy Edward – you can take it." She hesitates and then continues in a softer tone, "Is she really leaving, though, you're sure?" Her dark eyes are concerned and she absentmindedly starts biting her nails, as if it helps her focus.

I nod. "Yes, she's going to be working in England this fall, so I'll be moving out of her house sometime in August, I guess. I need to find a new place to stay and probably a second job so I can afford rent and living expenses. I've no idea how hard it is to find a room or a small apartment around here. Do you know anybody you think I should talk to?"

Maryanne stares at the floor, shuffling her feet in her flip flops as if she's testing whether the floor needs sweeping – it does – before she looks up at me and casually blurts out. "Hell, you could probably stay with us. We have a spare room that just stands empty. And I don't know about finding a full time job, but you could definitely pick up some extra hours helping out here at the bar. Tony keeps complaining about how he's tied down hand and foot here all the time, although he should have known that's what it's like running a bar." She snorts. "If he had his way he would spend all extra hours surfing and reading rather than restocking and keeping the books."

I look at her doubtfully. "Thank you for suggesting that, but I don't know … maybe you should talk to Tony first and see what he thinks and then we can talk about it. I'm not in any rush, I just need to start looking for options."

Maryanne walks in a complicated figure of eight around the dusty floor, her hands pushed into her back pockets, glancing up at me as if she's thinking hard, and then ends up standing in front of me again. She jabs a finger at my shoulder and smiles. "Okay, here's what we'll do: you go practice on the piano while I look through the bills and orders and when Tony comes back, I'll talk to him alone. Then we'll all think on it and in a week or two, if you're interested, we can discuss it. Maybe you'll find a better option, or maybe we'll need the spare room for something else. No promises. All right?"

I can't help smiling at her because she is so refreshingly self assured and straightforward. Maybe living with someone like her wouldn't be so hard?

"Okay," I reply. "We'll see. No promises."

I spend the rest of the afternoon and early evening at the piano, and it's not until Maryanne comes up to me and points out that she's getting hungry that I realize it's almost seven o'clock. She stretches and yawns, and a sliver of skin appears when her t-shirt rides up. I can see her hipbones and a belly ring before I discreetly look the other way, but not before I catch a glimpse of another tattoo.

"Do you want to stay for dinner, Edward? I was planning on making tacos." Maryanne sounds casual and I'm momentarily tempted to take her up on her offer, but on the other hand I want to get home to Bella and our evening run. When I pick up my phone from the pocket of my hood sweater I see that I have two texts from Bella. The first one says "Do you want to eat when you get back? I can fix you something. XO B" The next one says "Food in the fridge if you want. If I don't hear from you, I run at 7.30, before it gets dark. Love you. B"

I immediately pick up the phone and dial her number. Maryanne walks towards the other side of the bar to give me some privacy, but I gesture to her that it's fine and that I'm leaving as Bella picks up at the other end. I look around to make sure I haven't forgotten anything.

"Bella, I'm so sorry, I completely forgot the time," I say as I follow Maryanne when she picks up the empty cookie box and heads for the exit. Bella's voice, a little breathless, reassures me.

"No problem, Edward, I was just warming up. Are you coming back, or should I run without you?" As we exit from the back door into the alley I look up at the sky, which is slowly darkening.

"Tell you what, why don't you start, and I'll meet you on the beach. Look out for me and I'll come find you." I don't want Bella running alone, especially if she ends up being outside after dark. Not that I think she's in any immediate danger, I just don't like the idea of her out there on her own.

"Sure. See you later." She hesitates, then continues "I love you." I can't help smiling as I reply, "Love you, too. See you in a bit, beautiful." As I hang up, I catch Maryanne looking at me. "What?"

She just shrugs and smiles. "Nothing. You're very sweet around Bella, that's all. She's a lucky lady. When will I see you?" I look at the time on my phone before putting it away.

"I need all the practice I can get so I'd like to come in every day after work, if that's okay by you?" I ask. "I'm on the early shift this week, so I get out around three o'clock at the latest. Would that work, do you think?" I watch her dark eyes as she makes a face at me.

"What do you think, Edward? Come over any time you like. We open around three and the real crowd doesn't start showing until five, so you can play as much as you please. Call me if you want to drop in before we open."

I nod, and walk with her along the alley towards the street. "Thank you. And thanks for the cookies. They were amazing." My mind is already drifting, thinking of Bella running alone on the beach and maybe Maryanne notices my distraction because she shoves me on the shoulder and exclaims, "Hey, get going! Bella is probably waiting for your lazy ass to show."

So I take off at a light jog, waving goodbye to her over my shoulder, and the last glimpse I get is of her standing at the door to the stairwell, fumbling with the key and pushing her hair out of her eyes. From a distance she looks much smaller. And I can't help thinking that in spite of her fierce exterior she's someone who needs a pair of strong arms to hold her. I just wonder whose arms they're going to be and when she'll finally let him hold her.

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**A/N: Have you missed me? I know I missed you guys - and my trusty beta! It's been crazy busy over here, but finally, here's another chapter with a little bit more of Maryanne in it. What do you think: Is Edward an accomplished liar or just a confused guy making things up as he goes along? Should he move in with Maryanne or would that be a mistake? **

**On another note: Did you see the Ho Hey Contest here on Fan Fiction? (id: 4392156) There were some pretty awesome contributions - do you think the best ones won?**


	42. Chapter 42

**A/N: Disclaimer - Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. I had to cut this chapter short to prevent it from spilling over all bounds, and it hasn't been beta:d. I hope you'll enjoy it nevertheless. Thank you for reading!**

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_And right action is freedom_

_From past and future also._

_For most of us, this is the aim_

_Never here to be realized;_

_Who are only undefeated_

_Because we have gone on trying_

T.S. Eliot: The Dry Salvages

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**Chapter 42**

**BPOV**

The week after we come home from the trip is quiet. There's a peaceful feeling between me and Edward that hasn't been there before, as if we've reached a new level in our relationship, however brief our time together has been. In my sleep I feel him kissing my forehead before rolling out of bed in the morning, then I drift back to sleep to wake hours later. The first thing I do is to press my face into his pillow and inhale his delicious fragrance, hugging the bedclothes to myself with silent glee.

I do yoga, have breakfast and take a walk outside to get some fresh air before settling down with my work for the day. I'm looking at the material we picked up in San Francisco, going through some of the notes I took way back when I was working on my dissertation, picking up threads I had to let go then because there was no time to pursue them. I look up material online and access the Berkeley online library resources to look for relevant articles.

I've started communicating with England, and a very nice woman named Shirley Lively is helping me find accommodation and getting me up-to-date with paperwork and regulations for US citizens on scholarship grants in the United Kingdom. I've discreetly looked into the possibilities of staying in England on a tourist visa and as far as I can tell, Edward would have no problem coming with me for the greater part of my stay, if only he had a valid passport. It's enough to make me wrack my brain for a solution. If Edward is not a hunted criminal, but simply a young person who's decided to break off all contact with his family, surely it couldn't be dangerous for him to apply for a passport? But without an ID, could it mean that he would need to call on his family to help vouch for him?

I'm going around in circles, thinking of this. Edward has turned his back on his family, and is convinced that they either don't want to have anything to do with him, or are conspiring with the police to have him accused of something, I don't know what. Selling drugs? Driving under the influence? Assault? Nothing to do with his sister's death, surely? Maybe she killed herself overdosing on drugs that he gave her? That might explain his guilt. I shake my head at my own wild imaginings. I can't see Edward as some kind of drug dealer, and certainly not imagine him giving his younger sister dangerous drugs.

Finally, on Wednesday I give in to the churning in my mind and call Rose. I haven't talked to her since before the trip to San Francisco, but I'm sure her lack of communication only means that she's busy juggling her life and her new romance. Unsurprisingly, I get her answering machine, but an hour later when I'm throwing together a salad for lunch, her call comes through. I can hear traffic in the background and, suspicious, I ask her, "Hey, Rose, you're not on the phone while driving, are you?" She chuckles.

"Bella, only you would start a conversation like that. No, Mom, calm down, I'm in the street waiting for a cab. I'm meeting a client for lunch in North Hollywood and I don't feel like driving. Oh, there he is, hang on a minute!" There's a brief pause while I listen to some scuffling, the bang of a car door and Rose's muffled instructions to her driver.

"All is well, now I have at least fifteen minutes to talk to you, thanks to the traffic. How are you doing, girl, I haven't talked to you in forever? Did you go to San Francisco like you planned?"

I tell her briefly about the trip, omitting the more personal parts that are foremost in my mind.

"Oh, and you wouldn't believe it, but we ran into James down at Fisherman's Wharf. It was a shock, but I'm grateful I wasn't on my own when it happened." I bite my lip briefly, remembering the sight of him. "I haven't really seen him or talked to him directly since January."

Rose gasps. "No! That fucker! Sorry, sorry, I know you don't approve of my language, but Bella, really, that man is a piece of work. I'm proud to say we flayed him within an inch of his life for alimony. Money is the only language scum like him understands, and I'm sure that was a pretty hefty kick in the balls for him to take. I talked to your lawyer in March and he was still crowing over how amenable James' representation became as soon as we went to court and showed him up for the piece-of-crap-husband that he was." She sighs and continues.

"So, are you okay? He didn't get ugly with you or anything? I mean, he wouldn't dare to, right, not with Edward there." She chuckles. "Edward! Tell me, how did James take that particular blow to the nuts? It must kill him now to see you with someone so young and good-looking, after he treated you the way he did. He wasn't with that redheaded bitch, was he – what was her name?"

"Victoria," I supply weakly. "No, he mentioned her, but he said that they're not together anymore."

Rose laughs, briefly. "Yeah, I can imagine. He'll probably think twice before marrying anyone so soon again after dividing up his assets, and she was a money-grabbing little whore if ever I saw one."

"Rose, please," I say. She is a fierce friend, but sometimes her harsh opinions about people, even people I have reason to dislike, grate on my nerves. "Everything was fine. James was smug as usual, but it was very brief, and he didn't seem to bear any grudges. He even claimed that he initiated the divorce to help _me_." I scoff, still finding that particular idea hard to stomach.

"What? No, he didn't! That asshole!" Rose is fuming on the other end, and I strive to calm her down.

"Never mind, maybe that's what he wants to believe, I don't care. He mostly ignored Edward, and Edward hated his guts, obviously. What surprised me is that James sent a brand new laptop to our hotel the next morning with a gift card wishing me luck in England. That was … out of character. Or not." I frown. "Maybe it was his idea of closure, I don't know. It's over and done with now, anyway, and I don't have to worry about what it will feel like to see him again." I fiddle with my plate and glass, uncomfortable at the memory.

Rose's voice on the other side is more guarded now. "So, it's definitely decided, then? You're going to take that scholarship offer?"

When I mentioned Dr. Cope's call to Rosalie before I had tried to tone it down, saying that it wasn't anything major and that I hadn't decided what to do yet. She had grumbled but let me off, probably because she was distracted about something connected with Emmett. Now, it's maybe a different story.

"Yes, and I wanted to talk to you about it. For one thing, it means I'll be moving out of here sometime in August, and I might want to look for an apartment in the San Francisco area before I go abroad, so that I won't have to go house hunting first thing when I get back. I'm not sure. And Edward…" I trail off, unsure how to broach the subject.

"Yes, what about Edward. Is he coming with you?" Rose sounds suspicious. "He's not going to be living off you in England, is he?" My irritation flares up.

"God, Rose, can't you get into your head that he's not some kind of cheap gigolo? I would love for Edward to come with me, but right now it doesn't seem to be an option, and he's told me that he wants to look for another place to stay here on his own, without any help from me or you."

"So he's breaking up with you just because you got the chance to do something that you love? What a prick! I knew…" before Rose's rant can work itself up to new heights, I interrupt her.

"No! He's not breaking up with me, and I'm not breaking up with him! We're taking a break, that's all, and we'll probably see each other again when I come back. At least, that's what we're both hoping for." I sigh. "But what I really wanted to talk to you about is something else, something connected to this. First of all, you've got to promise me not to talk to anyone about this before you get my permission to do so. Not to anyone, mind? Not Emmett, not Edward, no one, okay?"

Rose is quiet for a beat, and I can almost hear the clicking of the little wheels in that beautiful head of hers. She thinks like a lawyer and she is already trying to anticipate what I've got to say, and how she can work around my reluctance to involve anyone else.

"Okay," she says finally, "I promise. But if I think you're wrong I will try to talk you out of holding me to that promise, just so you know. Spill!"

I swallow, nervous. "It's like this: Edward told me something in the strictest confidence and I don't want to break his trust, but I think it's really against his own interests to keep it a secret so I'm trusting you with information that isn't really mine to share. Do you understand?" Rose hums, non-committal. I plunge ahead.

"He's told me that he's broken off all contact with his family after his younger sister killed herself. He holds himself responsible for her death, and he thinks that they do, too. It all happened very abruptly, he reacted in what must have been shock and just took off, deciding to shed his identity and never go back again." I realize how fantastic this must sound, but continue anyway.

"So now, he doesn't have any money or identification and refuses to use his social security number for fear that someone from his family will trace him. This means that he has no driver's license, no passport, and no possibility of leaving this country. If he did, I would ask him to come with me, but now my hands are tied."

Rose makes a noise in her throat, then says, "That's bullshit, Bella and you must know it. There's no way his family could trace him through his social security number unless they got help from the police or the FBI or government authorities, or maybe if they had a lot of money to waste on some good private investigators. The only possible explanation to his irrational fear of giving away who and where he is must be that he's committed a crime and is wanted by the police somewhere. Bella, Edward is a runaway, and it's time that you started looking out for yourself. What if he's killed someone, or kidnapped someone? What if he's part of a drug ring? You don't know the first thing about this guy!"

I clench my teeth. This is exactly what I was afraid of. "God, Rose, you've met him! Do you honestly think Edward is the Una bomber or something? He's a young guy who's had a traumatic past, and made some bad decisions, not a drug lord!" I take a deep breath, willing myself to calm down.

"Look, when I called you, this is exactly what I didn't want to hear. I am assuming that Edward is speaking the truth, and so should you. What I want from you is a little help and a lot more respect than I feel that I've been getting. I've always listened to your side of things, Rose, but now I want you to listen to mine."

Rose is quiet at the other end of the line, and I can hear her breathing – probably through her nose. Finally she answers, carefully, "Okay, Bella, I'm listening. But I will look out for your best interests first, and Edward's second, just so you know what my priorities are. Tell me what you had in mind."

I breathe a small sigh of relief, even if I know that the battle is far from won, yet.

"What I would like your help with is locating Edward's family. I'm pretty sure that they are worried sick and not at all as hostile as he imagines them to be. I was wondering if you know of any way to quietly check if anyone has reported a young man of Edward's age and looks missing somewhere in the US? If he just picked up and left them without much of an explanation, I'm sure they've been looking for him. If we find them, I could try to talk to them, see what happened and how they feel about seeing him. Then at least I could tell him what his options are. And even if they don't want to meet, at least he will be able to go on with his life in a normal way, without this neurotic fear of being discovered." I falter. There are so many holes in this plan that I know I'm probably silly to even mention this to Rose. Not excepting the fact that Edward has made his own feelings on the subject of his family clear, and this is not what he wants.

Rose waits for me to continue, but when I don't speak, she picks up where she left off.

"Fine, but you know the first thing I would do is talk to the police. What if Edward _is_ a criminal? What if he's wanted by the feds? Will you thank me if I set the police on him?"

In spite of my strong conviction that Edward is no criminal, Rose's words send a chill down my spine. What if she's right? What if one of the things Edward regrets is selling drugs, or assaulting someone? Will I hate myself forever if Edward is carted off to jail? Will Edward hate me forever?

"Rose, I don't believe for a minute that Edward is a full-fledged criminal, but he might have something on his record, it's true. Maybe he sold marijuana in college, or maybe he beat someone up in a bar fight, I don't know. Whatever it is, I can't imagine that it's worth paying for it by depriving himself of an education, a family, a meaningful career and an identity. I'm certain that whatever he's running from, it's not as bad as he thinks. He doesn't see himself clearly and that's why he needs help. Will you help me help him?"

Rose huffs, then replies, "You know I care about you, Bella, and I admit that Edward seems a hell of a lot better than many of the scumbags I dated in college, but I'm warning you; I'm not going to let this go. I will make some inquiries, but if the ball gets rolling I might not be able to stop it. Now, tell me what you know about him."

So I tell her what little there is; that his real parents died when he was very young, and that he was adopted by well-to-do parents who adopted another child, a girl, after him. That his mother taught him piano and used to be an interior decorator and that he seems to have worked in an office for one or both of them, that he's learnt how to handle a computer and deal with the financial side of running a business. That he dropped out of college his senior year this spring and was a successful track runner and grade A student through high school. I tell her that he's mentioned the east coast and that he's never been to the west coast before, but his accent doesn't really give him away either way. And, hesitantly, I tell her how his younger sister killed herself after a life of psychological problems and attempts by her family to help her.

Rose makes little humming sounds, and I wonder if she's writing this down or committing it to memory for later. Finally I run out of things to say and stop. I hear Rosalie talk to the driver, and then she comes back on.

"Sorry, I just had to give directions to the driver. Okay, Edward Masen is an unusual name so I'll start there, but after what you've said it seems likely that it's just an alias, right? Anyway, I'll give this some thought and get back to you later. I have to go on a business trip to Chicago on Friday, but I'll call you back next week at the latest. I have to go now, Bella take care of yourself. Promise that you'll call me if something happens or if Edward starts acting weird. Better safe than sorry, right? Do you still have Emmett's phone number? I'll tell him to look out for you while I'm away."

"Rose," I say, exasperated, "there is really no need to … " but she cuts me off before I can finish the sentence.

"Don't thank me, you know I'll do anything for you, darling," she says brightly, and makes kissing noises into the phone before hanging up on me. Damn. I hope I haven't unleashed a monster.

I eat my lunch distractedly going over in my mind everything I've said to Rosalie and imagining what could happen now. Trying to convince myself that what I've done is what's best for Edward in the long run proves harder than I thought it would, maybe because Rose's reaction was so hostile. Is that really how other people perceive Edward; as a potentially dangerous young man, someone who could easily spin out of control? I shake my head and decide to take a walk to clear my mind.

I end up on the beach, choosing to walk along the waterfront to avoid the heavy sand and the sunbathers on their colorful blankets. It's hot in the midday sun, and I almost wish I'd remembered to put on some sun screen, even if I'm decent in shorts and a t-shirt. When I hear my name called, I shield my eyes, squinting through my sun glasses. Someone is running towards me. Oh, it's Tony!

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**A/N: So, did Bella make a strategic mistake by taking Rosalie into her confidence, do you think? What would you have done in her place? Have you travelled to another continent at some point in your life? Did you ever have a passport picture in which you didn't look terrible, lol? As always, I'll be happy to reply if you have any thoughts you want to share with me! Thank you! Are you reading The Practicum by TheFicChick yet? Adorable Edward meets lonely Bella, and teaching high school kids has never been more of a turn-on!**


	43. Chapter 43

**A/N: Disclaimer - Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. Some of you encouraged me to write longer chapters – I'll try! ****We're heading into the last quarter of the story now, for those who asked, and I hope I won't get sidetracked. My dear beta is still indisposed, so I hope you'll be able to overlook my errors! Thank you to everyone of you who are reading and following this story...**

* * *

_And the way up is the way down, the way forward is the way back._

_You cannot face it steadily, but this thing is sure,_

_That time is no healer: the patient is no longer here. _

T.S. Eliot: The Dry Salvages

* * *

This is where we left Bella last week:

"_It's hot in the midday sun, and I almost wish I'd remembered to put on some sun screen, even if I'm decent in shorts and a t-shirt. When I hear my name called, I shield my eyes, squinting through my sun glasses. Someone is running towards me. Oh, it's Tony!"_

**Chapter 43.**

**BPOV**

Tony comes to a stop before me, his naked chest heaving with his breaths, grinning in what looks like unabashed pleasure at seeing me. As before, I'm slightly flustered to have so much muscled masculinity thrown in my face and, involuntarily, I take a step back. He immediately takes the hint and mirrors my movement, taking a step back while his smile becomes significantly subdued. I feel a twinge of guilt in my gut. I shouldn't behave as if Tony is some kind of unpredictable monster and make him feel bad.

"Hey, Tony! What a surprise meeting you here. Aren't you working today?"

Apparently the tone of my voice convinces him that I'm not actually going to bolt right away and I can see his shoulders relaxing. He's wearing nothing but bathing trunks and I glance surreptitiously at his well-toned stomach and arms. Even if I don't really go for muscled guys I can appreciate the efforts of someone who's spent a lot of time working out. His dark hair is damp and falls into his blue eyes, and he pushes it back with a flick of his fingers.

"Oh, I was just about to quit the beach and go home for a shower. We open in an hour, just about. I try to go surfing as often as I can, and the swell today was pretty good so I thought I'd bring my board out. You still don't want to try surfing?" His smile is a smirk, but I'm beginning to understand that it's not directed at me. I resolve to take him at face value from now on. I shake my head and smile.

"If you knew me better, you wouldn't ask. Riding a bike is at the far end of the spectrum for me when it comes to balance. I'm still working on my climbing-up-on-tables-to-change-a-light-bulb skills."

He shrugs. "If you ever want to try it, we can just paddle out together, and I'll help you make it back to the beach in one piece. You won't even have to stand up if you don't want to. Did you ever go canoeing?"

I shake my head again. "No, I went fishing with my Dad a couple of times, but that was in a regular boat, no canoe. I'm sure I could flip a canoe over, too, if you asked me to." This makes him laugh, and I like the way his laughter makes his face look younger, softer. I notice his tattoos again, and without thinking I reach out and touch his biceps with my finger. He startles, then follows my gaze.

"This is beautiful. What kind of tree is that," I ask. It's the picture of a tree with graceful, hanging branches, depicted with roots that almost dwarf the foliage, and it covers his left upper arm.

He smiles, looking down at the tattoo, then at me. "It's a weeping willow. It's the first tattoo Maryanne and I got together."

I look at him, puzzled. "Do you mean you were together when you had it made?"

He shakes his head. "No, she did this for me, and I did another one just like it on her. It took some time, I can tell you, with all that detail." I peer closer, ignoring the fact that I'm staring at a part of his naked body. "It says something in Latin," I point to the foot of the tree.

"Non magis lacrimis," he says, without being prompted. I look a question at him.

"No more tears," he clarifies. I narrow my eyes.

"No more tears beneath a weeping willow? Isn't that a sort of mixed symbolism," I ask. "Wait, if you did each other's tattoos, does that mean that you did all those tattoos on each other," I ask, suddenly amazed.

I look at the complexity and variety of the pictures on his skin, how they grow out of one another, harmonize and contrast with one another. It's art, made through a certain amount of pain and courage, maybe like all art is made. I don't know if I would ever be brave enough either to go through the pain of the needle buzzing against my nerve endings or to make the decision to mark myself permanently like this. Carefully, almost reverently, I trace the outline of the tree, so delicate in dark blue, almost black against the paler skin.

"You're tattoo artists?" I ask him.

He shrugs again, and unconsciously rubs his palm over the skin I just touched.

"They're not all ours, no, the first ones we had done by different artists we met. We both trained for it, and we worked in a tattoo parlor in Brooklyn for almost five years. I haven't done any work in a long time now, though, and I've sold my equipment. It's an interesting job and you meet all kinds of people, but I got fed up with it after a while." He looks over his shoulder in the direction he came from.

"I left my board over there; do you mind if we walk in that direction? Where were you headed?"

I shake my head. "Nowhere, really, I'm just out walking. I'll go with you if you want."

We start walking across the sand, no awkwardness that I can sense either in me or between us. Maybe it's not as hard as I thought, getting to know a man like this?

"Maryanne would probably have been happy to continue working in the tattoo parlor, but once I got my degree I got restless and wanted to try something else. I took a course in tending bar, and worked at different places around New York getting the experience I needed and trying to save my money." He looks at me with a sly smile. "I was younger then, and tips were generous." I roll my eyes, then look at him sternly.

"You're not fishing for compliments, are you, because that's almost as bad as flirting?"

His expression becomes more sober, until I kick him lightly in the shin and exclaim; "I'm joking!" His grin is wide as he walks away from me towards the place where he's left his board stranded, and I wait while he collects his things, pulls a t-shirt over his head, picks up his flip-flops and flings a backpack over his shoulder.

I hold out my hand and tell him "I can take that for you if you like." He hesitates, but then gives me his bag, and I put it on, adjusting the straps to fit my back. It's not too heavy.

"So, did you have a good trip?" Tony asks. I look at him, puzzled. Did I tell him we were driving up Highway 1? He sees my look and adds; "Maryanne talked to Edward. He mentioned that you'd both been away last week, driving to San Francisco. I haven't been that way myself. Did you enjoy it?"

I nod slowly, looking down at the sand. There are too many things about the trip that I don't want to talk about, so I settle for the obvious.

"It was beautiful. You should go sometime. So, you've been seeing Edward? Have you heard him play?"

Tony looks at me and smiles. "Oh yes. He's been practicing for hours after work. If he didn't have you to come home to I think he would sit in front of that piano all night. It sounds good, too – I'm beginning to look forward to this weekend. Will you be there?" He looks hopeful, but doesn't push it.

"Sure, I wouldn't miss it for the world," I reply. "I don't want Edward to feel that I'm hovering, though, so I'm giving him some space. He says having an audience makes him very nervous, so you should probably have the smelling salts ready when he performs." I feel slightly guilty making a joke at Edward's expense when I'm with Tony, but after all, I know his stage fright is something Edward has been pretty open about with Maryanne.

Tony's face is serious when he replies; "Edward told Maryanne that you were leaving this place in a couple of months. Is it true?" I feel a shiver like cold water trickling down my back, reminded yet again of things I don't really want to think about but have to deal with anyway.

"Yes. I'll be working in England this fall, so I'm planning on leaving in August. The house we're staying at doesn't belong to me, so it was never a permanent solution."

I can feel Tony looking at me, as he hoists the board higher and shifts his grip when we start climbing up from the beach. "So, is Edward coming with you?"

I swallow. "I don't think so. I mean, I hope that he will, but right now he's not planning on coming along. I can see that there's really nothing for him to do there, so I understand him. He said he's going to look into finding a place to stay and maybe another job around here, then hopefully we can see each other again when I come back from Europe."

Tony draws a deep breath, then asks quickly; "Does it bother you? The age difference, I mean?"

I feel myself blushing at his directness. No one has really asked me that straight out before, and yet I think about it more than I like to admit even to myself. I glance over at his face, but his eyes are on the ground and there's nothing to give away what he's thinking.

"Well, yes, since you ask. Theoretically I could be Edward's mother, well, I would be a very young mother but my mom had me when she was just out of high school, so…" I feel myself beginning to ramble and start again. "Yes, it bothers me. I want to believe that we could be together long term, but I find it hard to. Partly because we're not normal as a couple and that will always make it hard, and partly because we're at different places in our lives and need different things. Does it bother you?"

Tony looks up at me, surprised. "What? Your being with Edward? Why would it bother me?"

I blush even deeper. "I don't know. Since you asked I thought maybe you … disapproved?"

He smiles, but then the smile drops and he frowns at me. "No, I don't disapprove. I don't believe I have the right to disapprove, anyway; your relationship is your business. I only asked because I want to know if you're all right." I fiddle with the straps of the backpack and look away to hide my face and my embarrassment for a moment.

"I'm fine, most of the time. It's just hard, you know. I didn't think I would meet someone like Edward at this time in my life. It's like this incredible gift and now it seems circumstances have decided that it's going to be taken away from me almost immediately." Suddenly I feel my throat constricting, but I don't want to cry in the street, so I clench my jaw and swallow hard. Tony's hand on my arm stops me in my tracks.

"Hey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you." He's put down the board on the sidewalk and is holding my arm gently, searching my face with keen blue eyes. We make an island of stillness in the middle of people eddying back and forth, glancing at us curiously before walking on minding their own business.

I shake my head and find my voice. "It's all right, it's nothing really. Don't apologize. It's nice of you to ask."

Tony sighs. "Look, I think I know a little bit of what you're going through. Do you mind if I dump this thing," he nods at the board, "and we can just sit for a minute back at our apartment?" I nod, dumbly. It isn't the best place to hold a conversation like this, and I can tell that we're not far from the bar.

We walk in silence the rest of the way, and when we get to the bar, Tony walks down the side alley to the back entrance, relieves me of the backpack, fishing the keys out to unlock the door. He goes inside with the board and is out again within a minute, locking up and gesturing towards the entrance to the upstairs apartment.

"Have you ever been to our place before? Did Maryanne invite you up?"

I shake my head no. "She did invite us, when I was here with Edward, but it was late and we declined. Are you sure this is okay? Don't you need to get ready for work?"

Tony uses his key and lets me pass ahead of him up the stairs. "No, there's plenty of time. I just want to finish this conversation. I won't keep you long." I shiver in the darkness of the stairwell, although it isn't really that cool, quickly walking upstairs, all the while conscious of Tony at my back.

He lets us into the apartment, shouting Maryanne's name, but there's no reply. Apparently, we're alone. I follow him into the kitchen and accept a water bottle from the fridge when he gets one for himself, then offers me a seat at the kitchen table. It's a funny sort of kitchen with mismatched furniture and vivid colors, very bohemian, which reminds me once again of the fact that Tony and Maryanne are artists. I glance at the ink visible on his arms and legs, and the roots of the weeping willow stretching far and deep along his arm.

He follows my gaze and smiles. "Okay, so what I wanted to tell you was that I know it can be complicated to be in a relationship with someone younger who is sort of depending on you." He drinks from the water bottle and put it down on the table in front of him, drumming with his fingers against the condensation on its surface.

"I'm not going to burden you with my life's story, but you need to know that Maryanne and I go back a long way. We grew up together in the same neighborhood, and we both had shitty family conditions." He looks at me, and I can't look away from his eyes, they are so intense.

"To make it brief, my parents were alcoholics and Maryanne lost her mother when she was very young. Her father was a prick, and he beat her stepmother and the kids whenever he was depressed or drinking or on the dole. Everyone knew, but no one did anything about it. It was that kind of place where everyone has enough of their own problems."

"Did you have problems with drugs, too," I ask, because that's the kind of suspicion that's been hanging in the back of my mind ever since I met him.

Tony smirks at me. "Depends on what you mean by that. Every kid I knew drank and smoked pot, and I did, too. But I cut down on the drinking in my twenties, once I decided I really wanted to make something out of my life and not end up like my parents. It's kind of ironic that I'm tending bar, I know." He finishes the water, but keeps turning the empty bottle between his hands as he talks.

"Anyway, Maryanne was in trouble in her teens and when I found out, I kind of stepped in and became her default family. I had moved out by then, and I could offer her a safe place to stay, away from her dad and her fucked-up stepbrother. She used to take the crosstown bus on her own and end up on my doorstep to stay the night when she had to. By the time she was seventeen, things were tough and she moved in with me permanently, but her family didn't make any trouble."

He sighs, "In a way I think they were glad to see her go. Anyway, once she moved in it didn't take long for me to understand that Maryanne thought she was in love with me. She came on to me, and as much as I cared about her, I felt I had to keep her at arm's length. She was young, she was messed up, and she needed me. I didn't want her to stomp out of the apartment after we had a fight and then have nowhere to go. I wanted to be her friend and family, not her lover." He looks at me and his eyes seem almost black.

"So, that was hard. But then, eventually, I found myself falling in love with her and it became even harder. After more than a year, when she had graduated high school and found a job, we moved out of the place that we'd been sharing with two other guys up until then, and found a tiny place of our own. Then, after a while, I caved and we became a couple." He sighs.

"At first I thought everything was going to be fine. Maryanne was happy that she'd finally got her wish and I'd admitted that I loved her and wanted to be with her. I was on a love high and couldn't get enough of being with her after trying so hard to keep my distance and be brotherly. But Maryanne has … issues. Deep down she has a hard time trusting people, well, trusting men, and it showed more and more once we got that close to each other." He looks out through the window, and the lines around his mouth are sad.

"We tried to make changes whenever things got especially hard; I put myself through community college and encouraged Maryanne to try, too, we changed jobs, moved to New York, learned the art of tattoos – which is a world and a people of its own, let me tell you. But by the time we moved to California, two years ago, I knew that we were failing miserably. We'd been breaking up and getting back together again and again, in a sort of repeat pattern. Every time she broke up with me I was terrified and relieved, and every time we fell back together it felt like home and hell at the same time."

I interrupt him, "But what you're saying is that you've known each other a long time, and you have had complicated lives. Surely the troubles you have been going through together are about more than the age difference? You can't be more than, what, five or six years older than Maryanne?"

Tony leans back in his chair, and when his fingers flex on the empty bottle, muscles twitch in his forearms, drawing my eyes to them. "No, of course you're right. I'm seven years older than Maryanne, which seemed like a big deal when we met as kids, but is nothing now. The thing is, in so many ways I feel like I'm the one responsible for her, and that never changes. When she's hurting, it's my fault. And whenever I try to help her, she ends up resenting it. I can't be what she needs, but she's always been too stubborn to admit it to herself." He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose with a pained expression.

"Starting this business together may have been the best or the most stupid idea I've ever had. It's been a lot of work and great fun; having your best friend for a business partner means that we know and trust each other, but it also means that we're tied to each other financially for the foreseeable future." His shoulders slump as he leans forward, placing his arms on the table only inches from where my hand rests by my water bottle. He speaks with his eyes on the table.

"I keep hoping that one day this great guy will walk into the bar, see Maryanne and understand what a beautiful, singular girl she is and sweep her off her feet and make her happy." He looks up at me with a smile twisted by sadness into something not quite a smile. "I'm just not sure what I'll do the day that happens."

I frown and chew on my lip. "So, what you're saying is that there are no happily ever afters?"

Tony shakes his head. "I don't know. I just want you to think about what you have with Edward and if the age difference is the biggest problem you're facing. Maybe you want and need different things in life and that will drive you apart in spite of what you feel now. Sometimes loving someone isn't enough to keep you together. But sometimes, in spite of everything life throws in your way, nothing can keep you apart. Just don't get stuck in a place where you only see each other in one way and can't change. If you can change together, you'll probably be fine. But change doesn't come from moving around and starting new careers – change comes from within you."

He suddenly laughs, and it's a startling sound in the quiet apartment. "God, don't listen to me, I sound like Dr. Phil!"

I smile, in spite of myself, then become serious. "But what you've told me is that you tried very hard to give Maryanne her own space in the beginning, and to put her needs before your own, because she was younger and more vulnerable. I haven't exactly done that with Edward. I let myself rush into this without giving much thought to who he is or what he really needs. Maybe that's my problem, that this all happened so quickly; you and Maryanne had years of getting to know each other before you fell in love."

Tony looks out through the window again, and then gets to his feet. "Sorry, I just realized that I have to get started. Maryanne is probably downstairs waiting for me to show up." I follow his cue, rising from my chair and move towards the door. I stop and turn back when he says my name. He looks apologetic as he speaks.

"Bella, I'm sorry if I just rambled on about my own problems to you when you probably needed something else from me. But for the record, I don't think that your relationship with Edward is doomed because he's younger, or because you're leaving and he's staying. Maybe there aren't any happily ever afters, but then again that might not be what you need. Just don't be dishonest about who you are and what you need from each other and remember that who you are and what you need may change."

I smile at him, feeling something warm fluttering in my chest. "Spoken like Dr. Phil," I say and he laughs; a short, rueful laughter.

"Thank you for stopping by, it was good talking to you, Bella. I'll see you on Saturday, then?"

"Yes." I hesitate. "I was going to ask you – do you remember the poetry by Ondaatje that we spoke about?" Tony nods, watching me with a curious expression. "What does the line 'wounded without the pleasure of a scar' mean to you – if anything?"

Tony hesitates, then lifts up his arms and holds them out in the afternoon sunlight slanting in through the kitchen window. The designs on his arms snake across his skin, complex and fascinating.

"I wear my scars here," he says, nodding at his tattoos, then puts his hand across his chest and continues, "but the real scars are always invisible, aren't they?"

I nod, feeling myself tear up again, but pushing it down, far away _Not now_. "Yes, of course." I try a smile and it's not perfect, but it works.

"Do you think I should consider getting a tattoo?" As I walk to the door, Tony follows me, and holds it open for me as he replies:

"If you ever do, you should seriously talk to me first. There are a lot of crappy tattoo artists in California – and a lot of excellent ones, too. I wouldn't want you to end up with someone who botched the job."

I smile and hold out my hand, and when he takes it I lift my head and give him a quick kiss on the cheek. He smells like sand and sun and I can feel a hint of salt on my lips. His eyes are surprised when I step back, but his hand squeezing mine is warm and sure.

"Goodbye, Tony. I'll see you on Saturday. Say hi to Edward from me if you see him this afternoon."

He nods and lets go of my hand, stepping back with his arm on the door. "Sure, I will. Goodbye Bella."

And that's that. As I exit into the still sunny alley and join the trickle of humanity moving along the sidewalk I feel like Alice climbing out of the rabbit hole. Did I just share an intimate conversation with a man I barely know? Then maybe something _is_ changing in my life - and changing for the better.

* * *

**A/N: Is Bella right to let down her guard and make friends? It made me think of how I used to hang out with, even spend the night at the houses of, boys I didn't know extremely well when I was a teenager, and nothing bad ever happened. Today, I tell my own kids to be careful. Should Bella look to Tony for support or not? What would you do?**


	44. Chapter 44

**A/N: Disclaimer - Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. I am still beta-less, so please put up with my mistakes! Since it's Easter weekend, this time I may have a teaser for next chapter for those of you who review…Thank you for reading!**

* * *

_I go searching through this world  
I wait on something to unfurl  
Thinking back on toys and paper dolls  
Now all I ever find are walls  
Tried to find myself out East  
Maybe find comfort there at least  
When I got there all I found  
Somebody burned it to the ground_

_So let your trumpets blow  
'Round the walls of Jericho  
Let your mighty voices sound  
Until the walls come tumbling down_

_Searched for days for you out West  
And I was greeted like a guest  
Into the desert's open arms  
Finding not your childlike charms  
If these thoughts I hold be true  
I'll lay down my traveling shoes  
And let the vines grow over me  
Let the earth swallow my dreams_

_And let my trumpet blow  
'Round the walls of Jericho  
Let my mighty voice be heard  
Then speak not another word_

_Throw your arrows and your slings  
And your other precious things  
Outside your gate I will stand tall  
As you cower behind your wall  
Look inside yourself to see  
Where these walls appear to be  
Let your soul step out to breathe  
Swallow whole your dignity_

_And let your trumpet blow  
'Round the walls of Jericho  
Let your mighty voices sound  
Until the walls come tumbling down._

John Fullbright: Jericho

* * *

**Chapter 44.**

**BPOV**

Saturday is Edward's day off and we sleep in, well, we stay in bed until 9.30 anyway, and I'm persuaded to skip yoga to have brunch with Edward instead. He craftily points out that I already did a massive amount of stretching exercises in bed and therefore yoga seems rather unnecessary. It is true that sometimes he seems to be testing the limits of my flexibility, but since the end result is always pleasurable I never find it in me to complain. Edward: my personal sex coach.

I smile as I point this out to him while making scrambled eggs and fried tomatoes with rosemary and thyme. He quickly moves in, enveloping me in his embrace, pressing me up against the stove as he nibbles his way down my throat with warm lips. His voice is filled with laughter when he replies,

"Oh, Bella, I would never have guessed coaching women could be so much fun. I predict a glorious career for myself as a coach for a women's varsity volleyball team!"

I protest, giggling; "What? I'm offended. You'd take on an entire team instead of giving me your personal attention? How promiscuous of you!"

Edward suddenly drops to his knees behind me, lifts up my t-shirt and starts pulling on my shorts. "Oh, I'd just have to outline very carefully what my duties as a coach are. There are team duties, and then there are … personal duties." He kisses his way across my behind and hips, then turns me around and proceeds to describe his duties with his tongue on my hot skin.

Much later, when we've finally finished brunch, Edward suggests that we go somewhere to distract him from tonight's event.

"How about a museum," I suggest. "We could take the car and drive up to Pasadena for the day. There's a museum with some paintings that I really love … have you been to Pasadena?" Edward shakes his head and smiles at me. He's sitting across the table from me, our dishes still spread out in front of us, leaning his head on his hand with tousled hair and warm green eyes, just watching me.

"What?" I ask, suddenly wondering if I have something on my face. "What are you looking at?" He reaches out and touches my hair briefly in a gesture that is at the same time casual and intimate.

"Nothing. I love you, that's all. I love it when you get all eager like that. Okay, Pasadena it is! Take me there and make me a better, more educated man." He jumps up and together we clear the table and load the dishwasher with a lot of clattering and equal amounts of giggling and groping.

The drive to Pasadena takes almost an hour since everybody seems to be going somewhere else this beautiful summer Saturday. I haven't been there in years, not since I was in L.A. for a two-day conference and visited a friend from Berkeley who now works at Cal Tech. The Simon Norton museum I remember, though, and I've wanted to revisit it for a long time.

Once we've parked the car we make our way to the museum, which is not as crowded as I feared, people obviously opting for going shopping or swimming rather than looking at art on a pretty day like this. Outside, the sun is beating down and the dry heat reminds me of Arizona; away from the ocean breeze, inland Los Angeles feels a lot warmer than the coast. The cool, air-conditioned halls are a pleasant contrast, and I pick up a map of the museum to plan our visit.

"Do you like art?" I ask Edward. It seems an innocent question, but his eyes are wary when he replies.

"I don't know much about art, if that's what you're asking. My Mom used to take me to museums when I was a kid, though. I sort of liked it, even if I got bored sometimes, too."

"Do you know what you like?" He shrugs.

"I think I like modern art more than old art, although I'm not too fond of Andy Warhol and pop art, which feels ironic and imitative." He pauses. "I guess I like all kinds of art, really, if I feel that it speaks to me." He looks down at me with a smile.

"I remember one painting that frightened me as a kid, it was in a big art book that I used to leaf through in the library at home. I always tried to avoid that page, but sometimes it fell open anyway and then I would sit there kind of mesmerized staring at it even though I was uncomfortable." I look at him, noticing how the green color of his t-shirt brings out the green in his eyes. He is a work of art in himself.

"Do you remember which painting that was?" I ask, intrigued.

"La Guernica, by Picasso. I'm sure you know it?" I nod. "Well, I don't know what it was, but there was this screaming horse in the picture and something that I thought was a female ghost trailing through a room filled with chaos." His face darkens. "I think it made me think of my birth mother, even if I don't have very many memories of her. Anyway, it made me feel strange." I'm intrigued and disturbed by this reference to Edward's mother, but I decide not to push him on that subject.

"So what kind of pictures did you like, as a kid?" I ask, starting to walk in the direction of the 19th century wing.

Edward walks by my side, looking around at the spacious rooms absentmindedly as he speaks. "Oh, usually paintings with people in them, where I could imagine the story behind, or a place that looked peaceful or intriguing. It used to set my imagination going. Music has always done that for me, too, you know; made me feel there were stories behind the melodies waiting for me to find them out, or to lose myself in them."

I smile to myself. "I think I always felt the same way about books, even if the stories in them were already written. I could lose myself inside them and become someone else, and when the story ended, it could still go on inside my mind. The stories took me with them, and then I took the stories away with me and made them mine." I look up at him, surprised by a memory.

"Do you know, I just now remembered that I used to tell myself stories in my mind at night when I was in bed as a kid, stories that would go on for days sometimes. How strange; I'd completely forgotten about how I did that until right now. Isn't that funny?"

Edward smiles at me before his hand clasps my shoulder, drawing me to him. He puts his arm around my waist and briefly kisses the top of my head. I love the casual familiarity of the gesture and relax into his touch.

"You know, Bella, I've spent most of my life up until now wishing I could be someone else," he says quietly, "and it's only now that I'm beginning to think that I know who it is I want to be." I don't know what to say to this, but I think to myself: _Oh, I know the feeling_, as I curl my hand more firmly around his warm side.

We walk through the museum for a couple of hours, taking our time, finally stopping before my favorite Cezanne painting "Tulips in a vase" while I try to explain what it is I like so much about it.

"Aside from the fact that I love tulips, it's something about the composition, and the contrast between the warm and cool blue greens and the vibrant red of the flowers. It's as if they're reaching for the light. And then there's the darker shadow on the left, like a darkening night sky, which makes that single flower stand out all the more, deepening its color until it seems almost three-dimensional." I hold my hand out, exasperated.

"I can't explain it, really. It just makes me feel alive and sad and glad all at the same time."

Edward just smiles and hugs me closer. "I know what you mean. Some things you just feel, you can't explain them. Best case scenario, the person you're with can feel it, too and then you don't have to say anything."

I look at him, the planes and angles of his beautiful face and I wish for a moment that I could paint him, paint this moment and what he makes me feel. When he looks at me, his eyes are deep, green and gold like sea water and sun and leaves with sunlight in them.

"I feel it, too, Bella," he says, and I don't think I need to ask him what he means.

We have a late lunch in the shade outside in the garden café by the green Japanese pond and enjoy the beauty of the exquisite garden before we walk back to the car to start our journey back. Edward is drumming with his fingers on his knees in the car, and I'm glad that he's not driving as I feel the electricity of his nervous tension mounting.

"How are you doing, Edward," I ask carefully. He makes a face, rolling his neck to relax the muscles in his shoulders.

"I told you, I don't do these public performances well." He shoots me a rueful look. "But I'll be okay, as long as you're there to shore me up. You'll be there, right?"

I shake my head, smiling but keeping my eyes on the road. "Need you ask? I wouldn't miss tonight for the world, and you know it. Do you know what you'll be playing?"

He nods, clears his throat and rubs his palms on top of his cargo shorts. "Yes, I've got a pretty good idea. I'll just have to see how to switch it around, depending on the crowd. I'm grateful that I'll have time to go out and be quietly sick while the open mike thing goes on, in case things go badly."

I steal a quick glance over at him to see if he's serious. "Really, Edward? You honestly shouldn't worry, I'm sure the crowd will eat you up. Do you know how good you are?"

He groans and drags both of his hands through his hair, making it stand on end before it flops down adorably. "Don't say that! I'm only as good as my nerves let me be." He sighs and continues;

"But thank you for believing in me, that means a lot. I'll just sit over here and breathe deeply and try to think happy thoughts, if that's all right with you?" He leans forward and turns the music up, and we drive the rest of the way home to his "Drive" playlist. This time I keep my itching foot under control.

When we arrive at Ink it Black it's before seven and the place is noisy and filling up with a Saturday night crowd. Tony and Maryanne are working the bar, and two girls I haven't seen before are helping out serving tables, collecting glasses, making sandwiches and flipping burgers in the kitchen.

"We've been getting a bigger and bigger crowd every weekend," Maryanne explains to me when we land at the end of the bar to say hello, "so we decided to bring in some people to man the kitchen for us." She grins. "It's pretty basic bar food but, strangely enough, when people get something to eat they drink more, so it's worth the work. Can I get you two something?" She looks over at Edward, who is a little pale but handsome in a black shirt with rolled-up sleeves and black jeans. I joked that he looked like The Man in Black himself when we left the house, but he just rolled his eyes at me.

"They won't see how I'm sweating like a pig this way," he commented drily.

I ask for a fruit juice and Edward asks for water, muttering something about not wanting to mess with his head before he plays. I discover Carmen in a booth, and she waves me over with a big grin when she spots us over at the bar. I drag Edward along, only to discover that she's there with her husband Eleazar, a handsome dark man in his forties with olive skin, a goatee and beautiful, enigmatic eyes, and two of their friends.

"Are you here to play?" I ask, excited but feeling slightly at a disadvantage because I don't know Carmen that well but I do know now that she has had the opportunity to examine my very personal underwear.

Carmen looks at Eleazar, who smiles at her and then turns to me, "No, not tonight. But we're booked to play here in two weeks with our band, so we thought we'd check out the ambience and the crowd tonight when people are playing."

I raise my eyebrows. "Wow, that's wonderful! We must really come and listen to you play, then. Did you know this, Edward?" Edward stands beside me, making small nervous movements with his hands and feet, and I know that he's feeling distracted. Carmen must notice it, too, because she reaches out and takes Edward's hand in an intimate gesture and shakes his arm gently.

"Hey, Edward, relax. We're all friends here, you know, and we're really looking forward to hearing you play. Why don't you and Bella pull up a couple of chairs and join us? When do you go on?"

Edward gives her a weak smile, as if to acknowledge her attempt to defuse his tension. "I play at eight, to start off the open mike thing, then I go on a long break, and then I'm supposed to go on again at ten or ten thirty, depending on how long the other gigs take." He looks over at the bar, where I catch a glimpse of Tony's dark hair as he moves up and down taking orders.

"Maryanne said they had four or five people come in and sign up for some mike time, so it might take two hours, or much less depending on how much material they actually have." We borrow two empty chairs from a neighboring table and sit down with our drinks to talk to Carmen, Eleazar and their friends. Time passes more quickly than I think and soon, Edward gets up to start checking on the piano and the mikes, talking to the guy who's managing the soundcheck tonight.

I take my chair and move it up closer to the stage, so that I'll have a clear view of Edward's face when he sings. He gives me a grateful look as he warms up a little with some chords and introduces himself into the mike.

"Hello everybody. I'm Edward and this is open mike night at Ink it Black! Give yourselves and our brave players a hand, folks." People listen up, and the background stereo is turned off, even if the conversations go on around the room. He launches into a version of a "There Is a Light That Never Goes Out" that sounds surprisingly upbeat and have people nodding their heads in time to the music.

Then it's one surprise after the other, "Young Folks" made to sound like a ballad, "Teenage Dirtbag", which makes people laugh and join in the refrain, morphing into a bluesy version of "I Can't Make You Love Me." He's not only an excellent singer and innovative piano player, he's got a sense of humor that's projecting to the audience and makes them love him more. I feel my eyes glued to his face, every nuance, every expression that comes and goes like cloud shadows chasing each other across an open field. It's as if he lets the songs possess him, yet he makes them his own. When he ends his first set with a version of "Love Interruption" that has people almost dancing in their seats I know that he's a big hit.

As he takes a bow and leaves the small stage with a leap to whoops and applause, I jump up and walk straight to him and touch his cheek. My face feels as if it's about to burst from my smile. He's sweaty and flushed and absolutely beautiful, and he's mine. He grins and gives me a swift, wet kiss, before taking my hand and dragging me to the back of the room to get a bottle of water from Maryanne and slump in a chair by the wall. He pulls me down on his lap, squeezing my waist through my shirt with his hot palm, and I can tell that right now, he wants me just as much as I want him. He's never seemed sexier to me than now, when I feel as if he's showed me a part of his soul.

People come up and want to talk to Edward about music, and after a while I feel a little in the way, so I excuse myself to go get a celebratory beer from Tony as soon as I can squeeze through to the bar.

"Hi, Bella! He's quite something, your guy!" Tony smiles at me, handing over the Corona with lime that I requested, waving my money away. I grin back like a loon.

"Yes, I know! And he said he was nervous before – just look at him go!" I look over my shoulder at the next act, setting up on stage.

"He's going to be a hard act to follow." But as the opening chords of "Ziggy Stardust" on electric guitar, bass and flute penetrate the din, people start to quiet down again, and soon we're mesmerized by this unusual trio. It's two bearded guys on bass and guitar with a willowy girl on the flute and violin alternately, taking turns singing. It's folksy without being predictably so, and they're doing covers on songs mainly from the sixties and seventies.

I slowly wind my way back to Edward, who's standing up, leaning against the wall, watching the musicians with glowing eyes. "They're good!" he mouths at me, and snakes his free arm around my middle, pulling me with my back flush against his warm body. So that's where I spend the rest of the next thirty minutes, swaying to the music and enjoying the electric feeling of Edward's skin wherever it touches mine.

After the band is done, they take their bows, then start packing away their instruments and Edward speaks close to my ear;

"I've got to go talk to them. Will you wait here for a minute?" I'm feeling tired, and when I see a stool at the bar that is vacated, I pounce on it and haul myself up to the counter, catching Maryanne's eye. She rings up the beers she's serving and comes over to me. Her eyes are glowing, she looks really happy and about 17 years old, energy radiating from her every movement. I laugh.

"Wow, Maryanne, you look like you just downed a six-pack of energy drinks!"

She grins at me and, without asking, hands me another Corona with lime. "It's crazy, but nights like these I feel like I run on batteries. It's the crowd, it's the music, it's everything. And so far I haven't served a single asshole tonight which must be like a world record or something. Everyone seems to be in a good mood. That trio is really great, I'm going to book them and pay them to play here again."

She nods towards the musicians who are talking to a group of fans, Edward among them, smiling, waving hands in the air and nodding. Meanwhile, the next guest is nervously setting up on stage, a young guy with a guitar and a pair of cowboy boots. When he starts strumming, the animated group beside the stage moves away to the other end of the bar, still talking and I lose sight of Edward. _Never mind._

When I try to pay Maryanne, she like Tony waves my money away. "Please, tonight it's on the house. Plus, you hardly ever drink anything, so you're cheap." She gives me a cheeky grin, before moving on to serve another set of guests clamoring for her attention. When she isn't looking, however, I sneak a ten dollar bill into the tip jar. I know they work hard and I can pay my own way.

I weave in and out between people, and find an empty corner where I can lean on the wall, listening to the country and western guy, who seems to be channeling Chris Isaacs. He's blond, built but not ridiculously so, and kind of cute. His voice is good, but his guitar playing is a bit lame – he would do well to join in a band. I hardly recognize any of his songs, so I would assume that they're originals. He's not getting the same level of attention that the previous players did, but the mike carries his voice pretty well over the din of laughter and conversation and he's got a following of women who are seated close to the stage, nodding and smiling.

When he finishes, amid scattered applause and some cat calls, a fair woman in her thirties takes the stage, wearing what looks like a vintage hippie dress and carrying what turns out to be an electrical harp. This in itself is unusual enough to get her the crowd's attention, even if many look skeptical at first before she warms up and starts playing.

She's got a lilting sort of voice, but it's varied enough that it doesn't get annoying, switching between high sweet notes, and a warm alto like coffee or hot chocolate when she sings low. After a while I realize that she's doing mainly Joni Mitchell songs and since that's one of my favorite artists I immediately take to this woman. In spite of the fact that the harp would seem an odd choice, it's really good combined with the material, delicate rainbows of sound combined with bigger chords that reverberates around the room almost like an electric guitar.

When she finishes, people clap and some even stand up and whistle. She gives them a small, enigmatic smile before packing up and leaving the stage. I'm not used to drinking, and I'm beginning to feel the beer so, after lining up for the bathroom, I decide to get some fresh air and look for Edward.

Outside on the sidewalk people are standing around in little groups, talking and smoking, but there's no sign of Edward. However, I meet Eleazar who's leaning against the building at the edge of the alley smoking a black cigarillo. His face lights up when he sees me and he waves me over.

"Hey, Bella, so this is a great night, right? Are you enjoying yourself? I had no idea about how talented your young man is. Does he perform like this regularly, do you know? Carmen said she hadn't heard about him playing before." I shake my head.

"As far as I know he hasn't played anywhere since he got here a month or so ago. But he is really good, right? I've heard him practice but it's somehow different with an audience." Eleazar nods and blows the fragrant smoke away from me, then turns back.

"Oh, yes, the audience means a lot to the performance." He jerks his head towards the entrance. "We mostly play in clubs and smaller places like this one, and it's good because you get a whole different rapport with the people in a smaller place." He shrugs, looking up at the sky and dragging smoke deep into his lungs. "But on the other hand, if the audience in there is indifferent or hostile, you feel it, too, and then you have to be very confident not to let it get to you."

I look at him, the lines of his handsome face and the silver in his hair. "You've been doing this for a long time, haven't you?" I ask him. He smiles at me, and his dark eyes disappear in crinkles.

"Oh yes, I've been a musician since I was in high school, but I've only been able to live off it during shorter periods of my life. I give music lessons, I've worked in restaurants, I've been a cab driver, a bouncer, you name it. But I've never once given up on my music. It's my life."

I look towards the entrance, but I don't see anyone I know, so I return to Eleazar. "I don't know if I could do that. I mean, I've always wanted to write, but I never had the guts to go for just being a writer. I knew that would be hard so I aimed for a career in teaching that would give me opportunities to write, too. Isn't it difficult to have to do all this other stuff for money, when all you want to do is play?"

Eleazar shrugs. "You tell me. Is teaching just a chore to you, Bella?" I shake my head, embarrassed.

"No, of course not, I love teaching. It's just that sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I didn't have my job at the university as an excuse for not trying to write a great novel. I mean, maybe I don't have the talent of a writer but I'm also too scared to find out." Eleazar looks at me thoughtfully, before drawing on the last of the cigarillo and extinguishing it carefully against the brick wall.

"There may be two answers to that question; on the one hand you may have a talent locked inside of you that is waiting for you to stop making excuses and let it out to play, or on the other hand, maybe you are already doing what you dream of doing, but you don't realize that yourself." He smiles at me, a slow, lazy smile, as he straightens up and starts moving toward the entrance to the bar. I follow him.

"I haven't given up completely on the dream of making a living out of my music, but on the other hand I am living my dream now. I get to play in front of audiences, we practice, we make progress together, even if we all have to spend time on other jobs to make ends meet. We may never win a Grammy, and we may never get rich, but we enjoy our lives. Isn't that something?"

I nod, smiling at the ground as he holds the door open for me and we squeeze in between people who are exiting and going back in again. "That _is_ something. When will I get to hear you play?"

Eleazar is steering me towards the booth where Carmen and their friends are sitting and speaks over my shoulder; "Saturday two weeks from now. Please come, and bring Edward with you. Maybe he can sit down and play with us afterwards? That could be fun."

Carmen makes room for me and I slide in beside her, while Eleazar walks up to the bar for refills. I look around the room, but still no Edward. Two guys with guitars are on stage now, but they're nothing special and are failing to grip the attention of the room. I muse to myself briefly about the mystery of charisma. Some people have it and others don't. Just like a good teacher is something more than a teacher who knows her subject, a good musician is something more than someone who knows how to play her instrument.

Something happens to me in the classroom that makes students' eyes fix on me, that electrifies the room with interest. It doesn't always happen, of course, sometimes a group is distracted or hostile, and sometimes I'm under the weather and flounder in spite of my best intentions. Still, there's something there which makes me that most elusive of things, a good teacher. While Edward's charisma is immediately obvious to everyone he meets, mine is confined to this particular area of my life. I sigh. Unfair, but there it is. At least it's a gift that has helped me mold my life into something worthwhile and enjoyable in spite of my failures in other areas, so I guess I'm grateful to fate for giving me this bone to chew.

Eleazar comes back with drinks as Carmen elbows me gently in the ribs and nods to the other side of the room. "Look over there. Does Edward know those guys?" I turn around and follow her gaze. Edward is emerging from the back of the bar with the trio of musicians from before, talking and smiling. As the two guitar-players finish up their set among scattered applause, Edward prepares to take the stage again. I look at my watch, and to my surprise I realize that it's almost 10.30. Edward picks up the mike and smiles to the room, making his rock star persona felt like a crackle of energy as somebody whoops expectantly.

"You've been a wonderful audience, and we've seen some great talent here tonight: remember this is the place where you first heard them, Ink It Black!" People clap, good-humored even if they didn't enjoy every minute of open-mike night. Maryanne is right, there's a mellow feel to the bar tonight as if everyone is happy, or at least pleasantly drunk without holding grudges or turning sour.

Edward holds out his arm to introduce the trio from before again. "Here they are, The Silver Skies, Ben, Paul and Lee, who are going to help me finish up here tonight, please give them a big hand."

As they climb onto the small stage, which is almost too small to fit them all at the same time, and start plugging in their instruments, I realize that this is something Edward cooked up right now, while he was gone, because I'm sure he would have told me if he had met these guys before. I excuse myself to Carmen and the others and move up closer to the stage, where I can watch, intrigued. Edward catches my eye and winks before settling down at the piano, tinkling experimentally while the others set up.

The bass player is dark, with a trimmed beard and a gold ring in his left ear while the guitar player looks younger, with dirty blonde hair, a darker shade of something between a beard and some serious scruff on his face and a silly hat that looks too small perched on the back of his head. The girl is long-faced but pretty, dressed in jeans and a colorful Mexican shirt with dark hair flowing freely over her shoulders. She's tuning her violin with a frown of concentration crinkling her brow.

As they start playing I immediately recognize one of the pieces I heard Edward rehearsing, but it sounds so much better now, with the other instruments chiming in. Edward's voice sounds breathy and intense, and I realize that he's singing this as a lover might, while dancing with his mouth pressed to the ear of the girl that he loves, telling his secrets. I grasp at fragments of lyrics - "I just don't want to miss you tonight" - trying to identify the song that I know I've heard before. It's not until they explode into the refrain that I know what it is, "Iris" by the Goo Goo Dolls.

Of course. How strangely appropriate. "And I don't want the world to see me, 'cause I don't think that they'd understand. When everything's made to be broken, I just want you to know who I am …" The crowd in the bar loves it, and they are whistling and clapping as the girl plays a wild solo on her violin before the piano comes in again on the refrain and they finish the song together.

I find it a little hard to breathe because my heart is beating so fast, but in a good way. The band members grin at each other but hardly pause before breaking into a Bowie song from the 90'ies "Strangers When We Meet", which starts out with a quiet, hypnotic rhythm on the bass and piano, and the violin a lonely melody soaring above it, which then builds slowly to a climax where Edward and the girl are harmonizing over the lead vocal of the guitar player. By this time, when I look around everyone in the bar seems intent on what's going on up on the stage and those who are standing close are swaying to the music. When they end the song, people clap and hoot and Edward stands up to introduce his fellow musicians again before thanking them for playing with him.

A general din breaks out for a while when the trio leave the stage, but then it's just Edward again, and this time he plays mainly love songs and ballads. I find a seat where I can watch his profile as he sings and, in spite of the fact that the noise never really dies down, it feels as intimate as it did when there were just the three of us in the bar.

It's late when he announces the last song of the night, and heads start turning when people hear the compelling, monotonous riff, even before Edward starts singing. His voice is different now, raw, broken, and I marvel at how he makes each song his own. "I hurt myself today, to see if I still feel …" There's something in his voice and the way he makes the piano chords vibrate as if they were guitar strings, hitting the keys harder and harder as his voice grows steely, then broken again, that compels the room to quiet down and listen. "What have I become, my sweetest friend? Everyone I know goes away in the end …" I remember Johnny Cash singing this song, a man broken by sickness and age, and I think how strange it is that Edward, my own man in black but young and vigorous, is still able to convey the same sense of desperation and defeat.

When he finishes and stands up to take a bow before leaving the stage, his face is pale even though his hair is dark with sweat and I imagine that his eyes glisten; but that could be my own wet eyes making my vision blurry. He meets me halfway and buries his face briefly in the crook of my neck before pulling me with him towards the door. "Come on, please Bella. I need some air."

People are spilling out on the sidewalk for a smoking break and Edward is immediately surrounded by people wanting to talk to him, shake his hand, buy him a drink. He tells everyone thank you and smiles his beautiful smile, but I think maybe only I who know him can tell that there's a guarded quality to his expression and that his eyes are tired. His long fingers snake around my waist, and he pulls me into his side. Even if he doesn't look at me his body language tells me he needs me there, and I lean my head on his arm, pressing myself into his damp shirt.

After a while the trio comes out and Edward's face lights up into a genuine smile when he sees them and waves them over.

"Guys, I want you to meet Bella. Bella, this is Lee," he nods to the girl, "and her brother, Ben," he nods to the guitar player, "and that over there is Paul," the bass player with the dark eyes and dark beard grins at me and we all shake hands.

"Man, that was amazing in there," Ben says, and Lee nods as she puts her arm around Paul in a mirror image to how Edward and I are standing. Ben looks at me, an infectious joy pouring out of him as he grins and points at Edward. "This guy is great. We just started talking in there and before you know it he's pulled us into playing with him. Just think what we could do if we actually got some time to practice!"

I smile back at him. "Yes, how did you do that? It sounded to me as if it was rehearsed."

Ben shrugs as Edward's grip on me tightens, and I feel his mouth against my hair. "We just talked about repertoire and then we went in the back with the guitar and bass to figure out the chords and tempo for a while until we were confident enough to try it." Ben's eyes dart to Paul and Lee who look very comfortable leaning into each other. Lee speaks up, and her voice is husky but pleasant, just like her singing voice.

"We used to be a band until a couple of months ago, but the keyboard player and the drummer took off so now it's just the three of us. We did okay playing glam rock covers at parties and the occasional club on weekends but now we've had to narrow down our repertoire until we regroup." She looks at Edward. "It seems like we might have found ourselves a new keyboard player." Edward smirks at her but shakes his head, and I step back a bit so I can see his face better.

"Not so fast, I'm not signing anything until I know you guys better – we just met, remember?" They all laugh, and Edward and Ben exchange phone numbers before we head back inside and find a table and something to drink. I accept another beer, squeezed into a booth beside Edward, letting a quiet buzz from alcohol, nerves and tiredness sweep over me. I'm relieved that tonight went so well and that Edward is making new friends, and by now I feel confident enough in his love for me not to let myself dwell too much on the female appreciation coming his way when we make our way through the bar. I know that he's mine, as surely as I know that I'm his.

We talk, and I'm content to take a back seat to the conversation that flows back and forth, Ben taking the lead, seconded by Lee, while Paul seems to be more of the quiet type. It turns out they are all younger than I first thought, in their twenties and either just out of college or doing grad work. Paul is studying music, while Lee wants to be a social worker. Ben admits to being something of a science nerd, majoring in Chemistry and looking to go on doing research unless, of course, they break big with the band.

When the signal for last drinks comes I can hardly believe it's almost one in the morning. I don't feel as tired as I would have expected. I excuse myself to go to the bathroom, but on the way over I see Maryanne waving to me from behind the bar.

"We're finishing up here, but Tony and I wondered if you and Edward would care to come upstairs for a bit before you leave, just to wind down and talk. I have some nachos and stuff we could heat if you're hungry. What do you say?" Her dark eyes are eager even though I can tell that she's tired after many hours on her feet, and I hate to tell her no. This is a once-in-a-lifetime event for me after all. I nod, cautiously.

"Okay by me, but I'll have to ask Edward. He seemed pretty wiped out after playing." Maryanne's answering grin is impossible to resist and I feel a smile tugging at my lips.

"He was amazing, right?" is all she says, and I nod back. "Yes. Pretty amazing." Not even seeing the long line to the ladies room can wipe the smile off my face as I walk away.

* * *

**A/N: Well, at least now we know that Edward could make a living playing the piano if all else fails. Did **_**you **_**ever fall in love with a guy who played a musical instrument? Did you watch Edward in BD2 playing the piano, with a secret little swoon? I love a musician's big hands and long fingers, what can I say? Please leave me your thoughts, if any, and have a Happy Easter!**


	45. Chapter 45

**A/N: Disclaimer - Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. I have tried to proof this myself, so I have to solemnly claim all mistakes as my own. Hope you'll enjoy this and have a good weekend!**

* * *

_Now, we come to discover that the moments of agony_

_(Whether, or not, due to misunderstanding,_

_Having hoped for the wrong things or dreaded the wrong things,_

_Is not in question) are likewise permanent_

_With such permanence as time has._

_We appreciate this better_

_In the agony of others, nearly experienced,_

_Involving ourselves, than in our own._

T.S. Eliot: The Dry Salvages

* * *

**Chapter 45.**

**EPOV.**

I'm tired and energized at the same time, my leg bouncing under the table as we talk music while I nurse my beer and hold on to the bottle to keep my fingers from twitching at the absence of Bella. I feel an acute physical pull tonight to feel her warm body close to mine, have her fragrant hair tantalizingly close to my nose and preferably her soft skin under my fingertips. I can't wait to bury myself in her in more ways than one.

When she returns to our table Ben gets up to let her slide in, and she puts her mouth close to my ear and whispers,

"Maryanne wants us to come upstairs for a short while to debrief before we go home. I'm up for it if you are. There might be food, if you want it." I can feel her smile against my skin and shiver involuntarily.

I turn my head and look right into her warm chocolate brown eyes. Her lips are inches from mine, she's so close I could kiss her – but I refrain, simply because I'm not sure I would be able to stop once I started. I lick my lips, my eyes locked on her mouth.

"Sure," I reply, and she scoots back an inch, blushing. Oh, yes, she knows what I'm thinking.

Paul and Lee smirk at me from across the table as I squeeze Bella's thigh under the table and say,

"We're leaving, you guys, but let's get together again and see if we can play some more. I have a weird schedule, but I'm free most nights. I'm sure we could work something out." We say our goodbyes amid the din and bustle of the bar and I move with Bella towards the back where Maryanne is talking to the two girls working the tables. She glances up at us and smiles when she sees us coming.

"Okay, I'm leaving closing to Tony, Beth and Joan and we'll go ahead upstairs. Are you all set to leave?"

I nod, and clutch Bella's hand in mine as we follow Maryanne through the door to the dusty back room where we were improvising away only a couple of hours earlier. I smile to myself when I think of how much fun it was to play with those guys and how lucky I was to find them. Maybe we could make something really great, playing together.

Maryanne lets us out through the back door, mumbling to herself, and leads the way around to where the entrance to the upstairs apartment is. She swears softly as she has a bit of a problem getting the key in the lock and I wonder for a moment if she's intoxicated, but maybe it's just the lack of light. Bella is close beside me, and I let her walk ahead of me upstairs, enjoying the view of her behind swaying, teasing me, under cover of the shirt that she's wearing untucked over her jeans.

Maryanne lets us into the apartment and turns on the lights in the kitchen and the living room, gesturing to the sofa. "Make yourselves comfortable while I get some food going. You're a vegetarian, Bella, right?" Bella nods, hesitating on the threshold to the living room.

"But I'm not very hungry, so don't make something just on my account. I could do with some fruit and water or anything, really." Her eyes are worried, as if she's been asked to do something she feels obliged to do but thinks she might fail at. I still don't completely get Bella's personal rules about what and when she can eat and drink, but I'm sure Maryanne isn't the kind of hostess who will get upset if someone refuses to eat her food. I put a calming hand on Bella's shoulder.

"I'm hungry, so let me help you, Maryanne. Bella, why don't you put some music on and put your feet up for a minute? We'll bring some stuff out and you can see if you feel like eating something or not." Bella gives me a grateful look, before following my suggestion and walking into the living room. I can see her looking around at the pictures, and I wonder what she thinks of them. I accompany Maryanne into the kitchen, where she starts pulling out cartons of food from the fridge and turns the oven on.

"What do you need me to do?" I ask. She looks over at me and points at the fruit bowl on the counter.

"Do you know how to make guacamole?" she asks me skeptically. I shrug.

"Mmm, avocado, salt, lemon, garlic…what else?"

She smirks at me. "Just add a bit of this salsa, too and we're fine."

She gives me a can of chunky salsa and leaves me to figure out the rest. I navigate around the tiny kitchen slowly, finding what I need while Maryanne puts bean salsa in a bowl and tops it with grated cheese before placing it under the grill.

"So, were you happy with your playing tonight or did you throw up when I wasn't looking?" Maryanne asks me while I'm busy mashing the avocado meat with a fork. I look up to catch her teasing smirk.

"Actually, I felt pretty good most of the time, although I was nervous as hell every time I started a new song." I scrape the avocado into a bowl, and peel the clove of garlic before carefully squashing it with the side of the knife. "But I was really blown away by how good the other guys were." I frown. "It made me feel kind of self-conscious, like why was I getting paid and not them, when they were just as good."

Maryanne snorts. "You're kidding, Edward. Sure, some of them were pretty good, but it's not like I would pay them all to come back and play again. That guy with the country songs made me nauseous, and the girl with the harp – hey, a harp! – I mean, was she serious?"

"Don't hate on the harp," I tell her, while I press a slice of lemon into the bowl and add a pinch of salt, then stir it around until it looks nice and creamy. "I didn't hear it all but I thought she was great, actually. Well, maybe it wasn't the kind of songs I would have chosen but I was pretty impressed with her playing. What did you think of the Silver Skies?"

She shrugs. "I wouldn't kick them out of my bar, if that's what you mean. But I was pretty shocked when you started playing together like that. Did you really improvise the whole thing?" She looks over her shoulder at me while she's tossing a green salad together in a blue bowl.

I reach for the salsa, and experiment by adding a dab at the time, stirring, then tasting. "Yes, that was a spur-of-the-moment thing, but it worked out really well, don't you think? Did you know the guitarist and the violin player are sister and brother? They don't look much alike to me."

Maryanne plonks down on the chair across from me, keeping an eye on the oven where the cheese is starting to bubble enticingly under the grill. I hold out the bowl of guacamole to her for her inspection. She dips a finger into it, sucks it into her mouth, then reaches for the sour cream and adds a dab into the bowl, gesturing for me to stir it around.

"Go ahead. Now, it should be perfect." She ducks down, pulls the bean-and-cheese dip out of the oven with a towel, and changes the setting before putting a dish with meat and another with taco shells in to heat more slowly.

"Actually, a sister and brother don't have to look much alike or even be remotely like one another." She knits her brow, looking thoughtfully at the oven as she asks, "Did you have any brothers or sisters, Edward?" I squirm in my chair, but decide to go for as much of the truth as I think I can handle. After all, if we're going to maybe be living together it's better to keep my stories as straight as possible.

"Umm, my parents died and I was adopted when I was a kid, so I've been kind of on my own. I had a younger sister who was adopted, too. But she died young, so now I have no one, really." Maryanne stares at me, her eyes inscrutable.

"Did you two get along?" she asks.

I shrug. "Yes and no. She had a lot of psychological problems, so she was a lot of trouble to our adoptive parents, and to me. We fought a lot, but I think she really cared about me." I swallow. "I know I cared about her." After a pause I add, "I miss her."

Maryanne sighs, a soft sound, and says quietly, "I don't miss my family, at all." She's silent for a while, but I feel I have to ask,

"Do you want to talk about it?"

She glances over at me and her eyes are glazed over. "What about Bella?" she asks abruptly. I stand up, embarrassed that I've completely forgotten about Bella for a minute.

"Let me go check on her. I'll be right back."

As soon as I walk into the living room I see that Bella is curled up on the sofa, asleep. A tinkling music is playing low on the stereo, and when I touch Bella's arm and whisper her name, she doesn't stir. I pull an afghan from the back of the couch, and drape it over her to keep her warm, lower the lights and tip-toe back to the kitchen.

Maryanne is still sitting in her chair, her head resting on her folded arms, staring at the glowing light from the oven. I sit down across from her.

"Bella's fast asleep. Do you think we should leave?" Maryanne shoots me a quick look, then wipes her nose on the back of her hand. I can tell that she's been crying.

"No, it's all right, you should stay. I'm sorry if I'm acting weird, Edward. It's got nothing to do with you, I promise. It's been a long time since I walked out on my family, but sometimes they still get to me. You sort of remind me of Tony when he was younger. He was great. Everyone wanted to be like him." She sniffs. I put a hand on her arm, which looks thin and pale folded up on the table. She looks at my hand, as if she wonders how it got there, and I pull it back, embarrassed.

"And his family was almost as worthless as mine – his parents were both heavy drinkers so the kids pretty much looked after themselves. Tony was the youngest, and he got out as soon as he could. His brothers ended up as no-good guys, but Tony seems to have done all right." She smiles, a small, wry grin. "Well, he got stranded with me." I shrug and smile back.

"You seem like a good deal to me, Maryanne," I remark, trying to lighten the conversation.

"Tony saved me, you know," she mumbles, her mouth pressed into the crook of her arm. "If he hadn't been there for me, I don't know if I'd be here today. I owe him so much." I sigh, troubled by her sudden dark mood.

"Maryanne, you can tell me anything you like, and I promise you I won't speak of it to anyone, but if you think you'll feel uncomfortable tomorrow, please don't tell me anything you'll regret. We don't know each other that well, you know?"

She looks at me, and her dark eyes are red-rimmed but still beautiful.

"I'm a bartender, Edward. I'm a great judge of character. If I tell you things, it's because I trust my own judgment." Her voice is sarcastic, but I can tell that she means it, too.

"Okay, whatever you say," I say quietly. I'm just going to let her call the shots.

She sits up and rubs her eyes, her face tired and sad. "It's just been hard, lately. I mean, I love being with Tony, he's the closest thing to family that I have and I feel safe with him. But he's not happy, and I feel like it's my fault."

"How is it you fault," I ask, incredulous. "He's an adult; he can make his own decisions, can't he?"

Maryanne shakes her head. "No, not really. Like I said, he got stuck with me early on, and he's never been able to let go. Not even when I try to push him away. He says he loves me, but I know that I drive him crazy half of the time. Living like this, just like partners or friends, is better than before but it's not good. He needs to get over us, find someone normal, someone smart, like Bella maybe, and start a life without me. He never admits it, he only talks about what's best for me, but I think he knows deep down." I frown at her.

"What you're saying makes no sense to me, Maryanne. I thought you guys chose to be together for a reason, but you make it sound like you were pushed together against your will. What's stopping either of you from walking away if that's really what you want to do? And what do you mean by "normal" – how do you figure that Bella's more normal than you are? You're both way more interesting than "normal" if you ask me; and that's a good thing!"

Maryanne laughs, a quiet little laugh. She pushes back the sleeve of her t-shirt and shows me her arm. "We worked in a tattoo parlor out east, did Tony tell you that?" she asks me. I look at her, wondering at the change of subject, then look at her arm, shaking my head.

"No, I didn't know. You mean you've done these on yourself? Is that even possible?"

She laughs again, more genuinely this time. "No, at least I've never tried it. I need to focus on the pain when I get a tattoo and on the design when I'm doing it on someone else, so I don't think I could. Tony is better at it than I am. He made these designs, and we had them made at the same time. Do you see this?" She points to the scroll beneath the tree design covering most of her arm. "Amor sanat Omnia". I shake my head, because I don't know much Latin.

"I know 'Amor vincit Omnia' means 'Love conquers all', but I've never seen that phrase before. What does it mean?" I ask her.

"It means, 'Love heals all'." When she doesn't elaborate I feel I have to ask her:

"Well, does it?"

She shakes her head, the corners of her mouth turning down. "No, it doesn't. Well, at first, when we got together as a couple when I was nineteen, maybe we thought it could. It was almost like we had been salvaged from a shipwreck, you see. We were thrilled to leave the past behind and be on our own. I was so in love with Tony and so happy that he chose me when he could have had any girl, really." She makes a face.

"But being in love and living together as a couple are two different things. Tony used to say that I was too young, that I wasn't ready to be in a relationship, and I used to tell him that he was wrong. But maybe it would have been better if we had stayed apart then, and met up later." Her eyes fill with tears.

"I hate my family for fucking me up so bad I can't have a family of my own. Even though Tony is my best friend and I love him like hell I can't be normal with him – how the fuck will I ever be able to have a relationship with anyone else? Love doesn't heal shit. It just makes everything twice as painful." Her voice is venomous, and her hands are shaking. When she notices me looking at her hands she quickly pulls them back and sits on them, looking defensive.

My instinct is to go to her and pull her into a hug, but Maryanne is a very private sort of person and I don't think she would want me to touch her like that. I hold my hands out to her across the table, in a gesture of conciliation.

"Hey, it's okay Maryanne. And I don't know what your family did or didn't do, but they could never destroy who you are. I think you're funny and smart and beautiful and real. If you and Tony aren't right for each other that's too bad, but there must be a hundred guys around here who would love to try to prove to you that love can be a good thing, too. I mean, you've got great taste in music and beer and you make awesome cookies." I smile at her, trying to get her to smile again. "If that's not normal, no man in his right mind would want normal."

Maryanne sits up straighter, ignores my gesture and starts picking at her nails, refusing to meet my eyes. "Well, normal is everything it's cracked up to be when you can't have it, believe me." Frustrated, I lean back in my chair and tug at my hair.

"I don't get it. You keep telling me you're not normal, but I think you're fine and so much more than 'average' or 'normal.' Why would you say that?"

Maryanne pushes her chair back, hard, stomps over to the oven and pulls the heating plates out, clanking them down on the stove and swearing when she burns her hand on one of them as the towel slips down. She quickly puts her hand under the tap and lets water cool the burn down.

"Shit!" I'm on my feet and stand over her, concerned, one hand on her shoulder. "Are you okay? Do you need something?"

She shakes her head, and I can see that she's biting her lip even as her hair swings down in front of her face. She speaks between clenched teeth,

"I'm okay, Edward. " After a tense pause she bursts out, "Actually, I'm not okay, all right? My father used to beat the crap out of us and my stepbrother was a creep who assaulted me until Tony kicked him in the balls, and the only thing I'm really good at is self-defense so if you don't take your _fucking _hands off me, I'm going to tear your arm off!"

Her voice rises to a scream and I quickly back away from her, scared that she's going to have a panic attack like Bella. Then everything happens at once: Bella comes rushing in from the hall, her eyes sleepy but alarmed, the imprint of a pillow on her cheek, as the front door opens and Tony enters followed by Beth, a look of concern on his face. His eyes quickly dart between me and Maryanne who's turned around with the water dripping from her hand and a shocked look as if she doesn't understand that the screaming came from her.

"What's going on in here?" Tony barks out. Beth, a step behind him, looks scared. I can feel Bella staring at me, and I stare at Maryanne, at a loss for what I should say. Maryanne shakes her head and mumbles;

"Nothing. Nothing is going on. I'm just tired. I lost it." She pushes away from the stove and makes a beeline for the living room, leaving Bella and Tony no choice but to jump out of her way. A second later, the door to her room slams shut. Tony glances around at us, then gestures to the kitchen.

"Why don't you get the food ready, and I'll go check on Maryanne. Just give us a minute."

Beth, a sweet-looking girl in her twenties with a shy smile and big teeth quickly introduces herself to us, and starts going through the cupboards looking for plates as if she's lived here all her life. Bella touches my arm and whispers,

"What happened? Are you okay?" I just shrug, because I don't know what to say.

"I'm okay, but Maryanne burned her hand and got upset at something I said. I'm sure she'll be fine, though. Do you want to eat?" Bella looks doubtful, but nods, looking around for something to do.

We arrange the food and plates on the table, saying very little and Beth finds a six-pack of beer and some water bottles in the fridge. By the time we've finished, and stand around not sure whether to start eating or not, Tony and Maryanne come back from wherever they've been cooped up and join us. Tony's hand casually rests on Maryanne's shoulder in a protective gesture. I stare at Maryanne, and she gives me a quick look, rolls her eyes and says,

"Everybody stop staring, please. I'm fine. Now, let's eat."

Bella smiles and asks "It's almost 2 a.m. What would you call this: breakfast?" The tension breaks, and we start laughing. It _is_ kind of absurd to be eating in the middle of the night, but by now I'm feeling really hungry, so I just ignore the strangeness of the situation, pick up a plate and start piling up the food and the others follow suit.

It's getting on for 3 a.m. when we finally leave, and as I shake Tony's hand he asks me,

"So, are you still interested in moving in with us?"

His eyes hold a glint of humor, but I'm not sure if he's joking or not. I raise my eyebrows in the _"Really?"_ question I'm not asking and he shrugs.

"You come by sometime and we'll talk about it, okay?" I nod, unsure of what he and Maryanne have been saying to one another.

I follow Bella and Beth downstairs to a waiting cab, which drops us off at the house before taking Beth back to the apartment she shares with two other girls, across town. Bella, always a caretaker, pushes some cash for the ride onto Beth, who takes it after some weak protests. As soon as we're alone, standing outside the house, Bella turns to me with a concerned expression on her face.

"Do you want to tell me what happened over there? I fell asleep on the couch, and then I heard screaming when I woke up. Did you get into a fight with Maryanne?" When I hesitate, she looks away, embarrassed.

"Oh. You don't have to tell me anything, if it was private. I was just worried about you. When I came in you were both pretty wild-looking."

I put my arms around her and pull her into a much-needed embrace – her body against mine makes me feel instantly better.

"No, you don't have to feel bad about asking. We were talking about her relationship with Tony, and she got upset. It seems it's … complicated." I pull her with me and walk to the front door, bringing out my keys. After I open the door and turn on the light while she punches in the code to the alarm, I turn to her in the hallway before we can go anywhere.

"I talked to Maryanne before about needing a place to stay, and it seems she's mentioned it to Tony. I don't know if they have decided anything yet, but I felt that maybe I should tell you we've talked about it. How would you feel about me moving in with them? Would that be awkward, do you think?"

Bella bites her lip, in that unconscious gesture that is touching and sexy at the same time, frowning down at the floor before looking at me.

"It's entirely up to you, Edward. But they seem like complicated people, and you'd be in each other's faces all the time, living like that. Would you be comfortable with that?"

I shrug. "I don't know. I don't know Tony very well, but I feel like I want to get to know them better. Tonight … I don't know why, but Maryanne started reminding me of Alice, in a good way. I keep thinking that Alice might have been feisty like Maryanne if she'd grown up. Damaged, maybe, and complicated but with a lot of life in her."

Bella touches my face gently and my shoulders slump as I feel how tired I am, the weight of this long day finally getting to me.

"Maybe everyone is damaged in some way, Edward, even if it can be more or less serious. We all carry scars from bad experiences, or from people we've loved and lost. It's only when we're crippled by it that it becomes a problem." She hesitates, then takes my hand.

"Lately, I've realized there are a lot of things I want to change about my life. I'm still only beginning, trying to, and I don't know how it will work out in the end. Maybe it's too late for some things to change, I don't know. But I know I don't want to be crippled anymore. I want to believe in change."

I stare at her in the semi-dark hallway and a million thoughts go through my head. How beautiful she is, perfect in spite of every little imperfection that she tries to hide from me. How there's a whole mountain of life experience between us that we don't share and still I feel more like an adult with her than I've ever felt before. How unreachable she is to me, even now when we're only inches apart, because I will never fully know her mind or what moves in her heart. How much I love her and how much it hurts to think that this might change, or that I might lose her, too.

"I don't think you're crippled, Bella," I say, even though I know what she means, because in spite of her shrinking away from me and hiding from people, I can't think of her that way. She makes me feel more whole so that is what I see in her – the healing in her love. But maybe you don't have to be whole to heal? I squeeze her hand.

"I know I need to change, though, and I want to believe in it, too. I just don't want change to take us away from each other, that's all." I hear the petulance in my voice and cringe at it, but Bella doesn't seem to notice. She reaches up and kisses me softly on the lips. Her flowery smell is intoxicating and I close my eyes to revel in the kiss which anchors me firmly in the here and now.

As she breaks the kiss, out of breath, she mumbles against my throat,

"You were so amazing tonight, Edward. I know it has nothing to do with me, but I felt so proud listening to you play and sing. I thought; 'This is who Edward is – this beautiful man who can make a room full of people love him by sharing his heart with them in music.' I only want you to feel it, too, to know how other people see you. No one who knows you could truly not love you Edward, it doesn't matter what you think. And I will always come back to you. Everyone who loves you will come back to you, Edward. Don't be afraid."

That night, for the first time I can remember, I don't want to make love to Bella when we go to bed. All I want to do is hold her close, so I do. I stay awake for as long as I can, listening to her breathing, while a new melody goes round and round my head.

*'*'*'

The next couple of days are exhausting, as if the lack of sleep I suffered staying up late has somehow lodged inside my body like a lead weight. By the time I quit my shift on Wednesday, I'm relieved that I have Thursday and Friday off. I haven't been to the bar in four days, but I'm itching to play the piano again and I know I will soon have to go back. I'm still not sure what happened with Maryanne that night, or if we're okay or not, but I can't put off seeing them indefinitely.

Amy's leaving when I am and punches me gently on the shoulder as we exit and walk across the parking lot. She's been careful not to touch me since our falling-out and she's looking at me now as if to judge my reaction.

"Hey, Edward, you seem a bit down today. Disappointed at your earnings?"

We've kept that silly game of tips going for more than a week now, and while I would claim that we're running nose to nose, Amy is convinced that she's leading. Actually, I think I get as much appreciation for my time and service as she does, only it's mainly women who tip me and women are more careful tippers. So, if anything, the race is weighted in her favor, which is something she would never admit, of course.

I squint against the afternoon sun, making a baleful face.

"Since I refuse to sink to your levels of self-pimpery," - I look pointedly at her short shorts, exposing her tanned thighs – "I feel I will always hold the moral higher ground compared to you and that gives me all the satisfaction I need. You may be winning in financial terms, but I am the employee most deserving of the laurel for superior service."

Amy rolls her eyes, but smiles all the same. "Big words, meaning that you're the most stuck up and pompous ass of us two, oh Mahatma Gandhi of the coffee machine."

"Peace be with you, sister, but I'm afraid your karma is marking you for a residence among the trash cans out back in your next life," I counter, enjoying our banter in spite of everything. Amy stops, hands on hips, and I can't help noticing how magnificently her blue eyes sparkle with a mix of anger and laughter as she cries out:

"What?! Edward Masen, are you calling me a RAT?!" I shrug and keep on walking, looking up at the sky for inspiration.

"A rat? Well, nooo, I was thinking more in terms of a … cockroach maybe." I wince when her purse strikes me between my shoulder blades and turn around laughing with my hands up in front of me to prevent being pummeled on the head when she swings at me again.

"Peace, sister! I never said there was anything wrong with being a cockroach, did I? They have gorgeous legs – oof! – just like you do, only so many more of them." Before she can pull her arm back for yet another swing, I tangle the straps of her purse in my hand, and tug gently on it. "Hey! Stop it. I'll buy you an ice cream, okay? Truce?" Amy leans back, pulling on her purse half-heartedly, before smiling at me and shrugging.

"Okay. Take me to the Ben and Jerry's and I won't tell you what kind of creature I think you're going to be in _your _next life. Only, it starts with a J and is extremely slimy, just like you. Go figure it out."

"Jerk?" I try, as we walk down the street in the direction of the ice cream place nearby. "Jellyfish?"

"Getting there," Amy replies, smiling down at the sidewalk. "Hmm, so you think I have gorgeous legs, huh?" Her smile turns into a smirk as she shoots a teasing look at me. I immediately remember myself; flirting with Amy is maybe not such a good idea. I shrug, and refuse to take the bait.

"That's for lack of a proper reference and only because you haven't seen mine yet. I'll wear _my_ shorts to work on Thursday and we'll see whose legs are the bigger success."

There's a long line in front of the counter, and we have plenty of time to make our minds up. Amy opts for a Triple Chocolate while I choose Cherry Garcia, and we take our cones with us down to the beach and sit on a low wall next to the bicycle path to finish them.

"Carmen couldn't stop talking about how great you're playing was on Saturday," Amy says after a minute. "How come you never told me you were playing at that bar?" I shrug. To be honest, I wasn't keen to have Amy there, but now I feel slightly guilty to have kept it from her. On the other hand, Carmen could easily have told her if she knew.

"Honestly? I have stage fright, and it gets worse if people I know are in the audience. I'm more comfortable performing to a bunch of total strangers."

Amy scoffs: "Stage fright? Really? You seem much too cocky to be a guy who has serious problems performing." Suddenly she starts coughing and turns red, and I realize that she just caught herself making an innuendo.

"Sorry," she mutters as the coughing subsides. "I don't mean to do that."

I shake my head and concentrate on the ice cream. "Anyway, it went much better than I expected; I didn't throw up once." Amy looks over at me, incredulous.

"You do that, normally?"

I nod, shrugging. "Yeah, I used to. But maybe it's finally getting better. It would be a relief to know I won't have to look at my dinner again every time I'm touching a piano in public."

"I'm sorry, I thought you were having me on," Amy seems subdued by my admittance of weakness. "It's just that you always seem to know exactly what you're doing. I didn't imagine that you ever got nervous like that."

I finish my ice cream and wipe at my sticky fingers with a paper napkin, frowning at my hands. "Well, I'm not such a smooth operator as you think. I had a girl screaming at me just the other day for something I said, and I have no idea what triggered it."

Amy looks at me speculatively, then asks, "Anyone I know?"

I shake my head no. "It didn't happen at the café if that's what you're asking. It was a friend of mine. Well, at least I thought we were friends. Now, I'm not so sure."

"Were you teasing her, like you tease me sometimes? Maybe she just didn't understand that you were kidding?" Amy decides to throw away the end of her cone in the trash can beside the wall, then looks over at me. I want to drag my hands through my hair, but instinctively stop myself, not wanting to get ice cream everywhere.

"We'd been having a pretty serious conversation about the problems she was having in her relationship with this guy she's been seeing for a long time. Then she told me she'd been abused as a kid, which kind of threw me. When I put a hand on her shoulder to see if she was all right she freaked and started yelling at me not to touch her. I felt like such a jerk. I didn't get a chance to apologize, because then she just shrugged the whole thing off like it was nothing. I'm confused, I guess."

Amy looks thoughtful. "You know, I've spent a lot of time volunteering at this women's shelter since I came to L.A. It's for abused women and their kids, but sometimes we get these young girls who are running away from home because they have abusive parents, too. It can be really tough to get them to talk about what's happened to them. Even if they hate their parents, they sometimes feel loyal to them, too, and many of them think that it's somehow their own fault what's happened to them." She scuffs the toe of her battered Chucks on the sidewalk.

"I don't know who your friend is, or if she's been receiving counseling, but if she hasn't I think it would help her if she did talk to someone. Is her boyfriend abusive, too, do you know? Is that what she means when she says they're 'having problems'? Sometimes girls get stuck in these patterns because they seem to attract the wrong kind of men."

I stare at her. Tony, abusing Maryanne? I have a hard time believing that, but then I don't really know the man. I've never really trusted him, but that's just my jealous instinct. And wouldn't I have seen some signs if Maryanne was being beaten? Like bruises, maybe, or some kind of marks on her? She doesn't seem anything like what I would expect from a victim of abuse, timid or nervous. Instead she appears independent and fearless. The operative word being "appears", of course. I don't know her that well. I shake my head, slowly dragging the soles of my shoes across the sandy concrete, listening to the faint, raspy sound.

"I don't think she's in an abusive relationship, no, it was more emotional complications we were talking about. You know, being on and off and not sure whether you should be together or not." Amy purses her lips, nodding. A strand of blond hair blows into her eyes, and she pushes it away with an absentminded gesture. The wind from the sea makes the hot afternoon sunlight bearable.

"Well, if I give you one of our flyers from the shelter, will you pass it on to her? You don't have to tell her we've talked, just that you have an acquaintance who's told you about this place and that you can get counseling for free if you're having relationship problems. We have a hot line you can call anonymously, if she feels uncomfortable about contacting us." Her gaze on me is earnest, and her demeanor has changed. This is something she really cares about.

I nod, as I stand up, wiping my palms on my jeans. "Sure, I'll just have to think of some kind of excuse so she doesn't write me off as a complete creep, getting into her business." Amy puts a hand briefly on my arm, then pulls back self-consciously.

"I only wanted to say that it's never a mistake to intervene if you ever suspect one of your friends is being abused in any way, Edward. If you're wrong they may get angry, but they will appreciate your concern. Sometimes, they get even more angry when you're right, but at least you will have shown them that other people notice and care about what's happening and think that it's wrong. Women and kids die every week from domestic violence. It's too big a problem to turn a blind eye."

I sigh, uncomfortable at the thought, but as we start walking back up to the street I tell her that I know she's right, and we part ways amicably enough, Amy heading back to her car, while I'm walking home to see Bella.

As I walk, hardly noticing the people in pastel colored summer dress passing me on the sidewalk, I think about Bella. Outwardly, she seems like the classic abuse victim, withdrawn and hesitant, but there are whole other sides to her that make me respect her strength and courage. People are complicated, and so are relationships.

I should talk to Maryanne soon, to see if she's really okay. And if anyone has hurt her … my fists clench at the thought of Maryanne, or any woman really, being beaten by a man they love. My own gut instinct has always been to protect, but with time I've come to doubt both my intentions and my ability to do so. With Bella, I am slowly relearning who I am and what I can do. Well, I'll cross the next bridge when I get to it.

* * *

**A/N: Have you ever had a friend or a family member who you suspected were in an abusive relationship? That is so hard to deal with, especially when you're not sure what is the best way to help. Most people I've talked to are afraid to make a mistake and alienate their friend/neighbor. This won't turn into a story about abusive relationships, don't worry, and the angst won't get much above this level in case you have a problem with that. We'll get back on track ... and I think there's another lemon coming up.**


	46. Chapter 46

**A/N: Disclaimer - Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. I am still beta-less, so please put up with my mistakes!**

* * *

_I wish I could tie you up in my shoes  
Make you feel unpretty too  
I was told I was beautiful  
But what does that mean to you  
Look into the mirror who's inside there  
The one with the long hair  
Same old me again today_

_My outsides look cool_  
_My insides are blue_  
_Every time I think I'm through_  
_It's because of you_  
_I've tried different ways_  
_But it's all the same_  
_At the end of the day_  
_I have myself to blame_  
_I'm just trippin'_

_You can buy your hair if it won't grow_  
_You can fix your nose if he says so_  
_You can buy all the make-up that mac can make_  
_But if you can't look inside you_  
_Find out who am I, too_  
_Be in a position to make me feel so damn unpretty_  
_Find the reflection you see to be so damn unpretty_  
TLC: Unpretty

* * *

**Chapter 46.**

**BPOV.**

I'm in a dressing room at Macy's when Rose calls me. I hate dressing rooms in general, and this one is dirty, poorly lit and claustrophobic. I chose Macy's because it's the biggest department store around and I want to go someplace where I can sneak in and out without getting targeted by a shop assistant. Trying on clothes and getting naked in front of a mirror is always humiliating and I don't want any unnecessary witnesses to hover.

So far, I've been fairly successful; it's not one of the high-end Macy stores and they seem to be rather understaffed today. My biggest problem has been the season. I am really looking for some smart skirts and shirts, one or two jackets and a pair of dark slacks to prepare me for standing in front of an audience again this fall, but I've bumbled into the beginning of the summer sales. Mostly bright colors and summer dresses are on display and I have to delve deep into the showier brands part of the women's department to find the sort of "office" clothes I'm looking for. I sigh. What I would like to do is shop for t-shirts and Levis in the men's department, but alas, not today.

I've just managed to wrestle out of a frustrating pencil skirt with an unflattering cut to creep into my comfortable pair of jeans again when my cell rings. I fish it out of my bag and look at the caller ID, feeling a jolt when Rose's name comes up on the display. Is it bad news?

"Hello?" I answer the call feeling breathless already.

"Bella, it's Rose. Listen, I'm just calling to tell you I'm back in town, and I have tickets for this concert downtown Friday that I wondered if you and Edward would be interested in. It's some kind of visiting choir and orchestra from abroad that's playing. It should be just up your street I thought. What do you say? I'm trying to get Emmet to wear a tuxedo, but so far he's been resisting my media training. I could need a little moral support here. Can I tell him that Edward will be in formal wear? Do you want me to rent him a tux?"

I sit down on the narrow seat in the changing room, pushing my purse to the side.

"Wo-ho, wait a minute Rose, you're moving too fast for me here. You have tickets for a classical concert the day after tomorrow? Where, and at what time?" Rose sounds impatient; obviously she's used to people catching on directly to what she wants from them.

"Disney Concert Hall, 7 p.m. Will you come or not?"

"But why do the guys have to wear a tuxedo? What's the occasion?" I didn't really think people wore tuxedos to anything but major galas these days.

"Well, they don't _have _to wear them, there's no dress code, but it's this little fundraiser and I like my dates to look nice, so I thought, what the hell … Why? Do you think Edward would object?" I swallow, feeling at sea. I have no idea what Edward would or wouldn't like. But a concert sounds good, doesn't it?

"Umm, a concert sounds nice, and I'm sure Edward wouldn't mind going with me, but I don't know about the tuxedo. Would dark pants and a jacket be okay?" He already has everything except the jacket and I think it would be easier to persuade him to use clothes that he has in his wardrobe than a tuxedo rented by Rosalie.

Rose huffs. "Fine, whatever, I guess I'll have to give up on the tuxedo then. But make sure he looks nice! And you, too, Bella – do I need to get you a dress, I wonder?" Her voice perks up, and I envision an endlessly embarrassing hour at one of the Rodeo Drive stores that Rose frequents, battling not only her but an avaricious sales clerk in designer heels.

"No, you know what, I'm fine. I'm actually out shopping now, and I'm sure I can find something nice enough. Semi-formal will do, right?" I've already cast my eye over some sleeveless long summer dresses in more conservative patterns that I think I could use together with a wrap. Before Rose can bully me into promising to go shopping with her tonight, I finish the call.

"I've got this Rose. I'll talk to Edward and I promise I'll get back to you tonight at the latest. Thank you for thinking about us and I'll talk to you later." I quickly set the phone to "mute" and hide it at the bottom of my purse to prevent further distractions. Now, I really have to finish my own shopping so that I can find a jacket for Edward!

When I get back to the house and make my way inside with a bunch of shopping bags, I find Edward lounging on the deck with my old laptop, dressed in khaki shorts and a grey t-shirt. I've transferred all my files to the new laptop, and made a back-up on the external hard drive before setting up an account for Edward so that he could use the computer without having to ask me first. I haven't actually seen him use it before, so when I plop down on the seat beside him I give him a quick kiss and lean in, curious to see what he's up to. He gives me a weird look but doesn't attempt to hide what's on the screen.

"Women's shelters?" I ask, surprised. "What's your interest in them?" I would have been less surprised if I'd found Edward watching porn on the computer.

He shrugs, squeezing my knee with his free hand reassuringly. "I had this conversation with Amy at work today. She's been volunteering at a women's shelter since she became a student here in L.A. and what she told me made me curious to learn more. I realized I don't know very much about that part of reality."

I lean my chin in my hands, frowning at the screen. "You mean abuse?" He nods. "It's pretty gruesome, isn't it? Not something you necessarily want to know more about unless you have to."

Edward looks at me, as if my tone of voice has alerted him to something. "Do you have any first-hand experience of abuse, Bella?" he asks me, warily. I look at him, contemplating what I should say. He's asked me this before, and I'm almost certain he harbors some kind of fantasy about me being abused in my marriage with James, even though I clearly denied it when he asked. I lean over and touch his hair, which is soft and tousled after his shower.

"Hey, I was never beaten or otherwise abused at home or in my marriage, Edward, believe me. James treated me badly occasionally, but not like that, okay?" I bite my lip, leaning back on the reclining chair and squinting at the sun haze over the beach outside. "But I had a student once who was in an abusive relationship, and I've always felt bad that it took me a while to realize what was going on." I look over at Edward.

"The problem was first getting her to admit that her boyfriend was beating her, and then to get her away from him quickly. Luckily, we had a good group of grad students that year, and they all banded together to help her, once she allowed me to let them know what was going on. She stayed with different people every week and someone was always around accompanying her wherever she went the whole time the investigation was under way, after she went to the police. We had campus security give our building some extra attention, just in case her boyfriend would turn up, but luckily he never did. Turns out he wasn't such a big man once the police got to him."

"What happened? Did he get sentenced?" Edward asks, shutting the computer down. I look at him, and for the hundredth time I'm distracted, marveling at those long fingers and leanly muscled arms, and the fact that I have the privilege of being held by them every night. I pull my thoughts together to reply;

"Yes, eventually he spent 18 months in prison, with a non-visitation order once he came out again. But by that time the girl was on the other side of the world. She ended up marrying an English physicist, and as far as I know she's doing okay. What about you? Do you have any experiences of assault or friends who have been in abusive relationships?"

Edward shakes his head thoughtfully, puts the laptop down and turns to me. "No, not really. But I suppose the problem is that most often people on the outside don't know what's going on. It's not always completely obvious, is it?" I shrug.

"Not always, or it wouldn't be so relatively common. I realized something was wrong when Cora started withdrawing more and more from all social interactions within the group of grad students, sometimes making excuses at the last minute to not turn up at sessions with me or seminars with the other students. But it took me a while to guess what the problem was; lots of students have issues at one time or another with stress, or depression or anxiety. I thought she was simply struggling with her graduate work and experiencing low self esteem as a result. It was when I noticed that she'd started dressing differently, covering herself up all the time that I got concerned that she was maybe anorectic or taking drugs and trying to hide it."

I rub my eyes, thinking back to the image of that frightened girl, tensed up in her chair in my office and staring at me wide-eyed as I confronted her with my suspicions.

"Did she get help, do you know?" Edward is tweaking the edge of his shorts between his fingers as if he's trying to erase an invisible stain. I look more closely at him. Is this somehow more personal to him than I've realized?

"I got her in touch with the counselor at the student health centre, and she helped with the contact with the police and social services. Other than that, I don't know. It wasn't my place to ask – I just kept close tabs on her. Enough to make sure that she had a place to stay and people who supported her so that she didn't waver and go back to her ex, or end up having to drop out of school unnecessarily. Why do you ask?"

Edward smiles at me and his warm smile makes his beautiful green eyes disappear in happy crinkles. I can't imagine Edward middle aged, but I'm guessing he would be just as handsome, only more distinguished. Will I be around to see it? Edward in his forties would put me in my … sixties? My stomach plummets. It's at times like these that I can truly see how impossible this is. I might as well be his white-haired grandmother.

"Hey, where did you go just now, Bella?" Edward's hand is on my arm, and I realize that in that micro-pause my body and facial expression must have sagged visibly with the weight of my thoughts. "I was only asking because I'm thinking about maybe taking you up on that idea of going to some kind of counseling. Maybe it would help, who knows?" He moves over to my chair, and swings my legs around with a deft move so that I'm suddenly sitting on his lap, his face buried in my hair and his hands wrapped around my waist.

"Mmmm, you smell so good, Bella. How was your day? Where have you been? Did you have an appointment with your psychologist?"

This is actually kind of a sore spot. I haven't been back to Dr. Banner's office since I rescheduled my last appointment. I called back and told her secretary that I had to cancel because I would be away on a business trip for a couple of weeks and that I would check in with her office when I got back. The secretary told me that Dr. Banner would be on vacation and that her practice would be closed the last week of July and the first week of August, so that it wouldn't be possible to schedule any appointments for those particular weeks. I politely thanked her, and that was that. I'm an adult. Why do I feel like I'm playing hooky?

"Oh, I went shopping for some new clothes, nothing exciting," I reply evasively. "But I was meaning to ask you: do you want to go to a concert with me Friday night? Rosalie called me; she had tickets for the four of us. It's some kind of fundraiser downtown, with classical music and some visiting European orchestra and choir." Edward's brow furrows and I pet his hair, wondering why someone who loves music so much wouldn't want to go listen to a concert.

"I would love to see you in a suit, Edward," I coax him, "and I found a jacket that I would like to see you try on with your dress pants." I stand up, pulling on his hand. "Come on, I just want to see how you look, that's all." He gives me half a smile and I can tell that he's still thinking it over, but he follows along without protest.

I pick up the bags I left on the kitchen floor and walk ahead of him to his room, opening the closet to find a white shirt and the dark pants I've only seen him wear once, briefly. The green tie I bought is hanging on the tie rack inside the closet door, looking lonely. When I turn around, Edward has dumped the contents of all my bags on the bed and is sorting them into piles. He smirks at me.

"If I have to parade in front of you, I demand that you show me some of your purchases, too. How about this combination?" He holds up a white cotton shirt with shirt pockets and a black, knee-length skirt that was the closest to a pencil skirt I could find that was comfortable to wear. It has a flair effect in the back which gives it width and makes it easier to move in, and an elegantly pleated front that obscures the bulge of my stomach. I had planned to wear it with a black jacket, anyway. I shrug, blushing.

"Sure, if you want me to. But first I need to see if the jacket fits you. Would you try it on now, please?"

I don't have to ask Edward twice about stripping for me, and he keeps eyeing me the whole time as if to judge my reaction. I'm sure my cheeks must be as pink as the tips of my ears are red and yet I can't stop looking. But once his smooth, lean body is hidden away within a shirt and tie the effect is no less breathtaking. The jacket stretches perfectly across his shoulders and arms, and is maybe just a tad too wide at the waist. I picked a jacket of the same brand as his dress pants, relying on memory for the cut and hoping that it wouldn't turn out to be two widely different hues of black. I am relieved to see that they go well together, and with the shirt and tie he looks perfect. I sigh.

"Edward, we have to think of more occasions for you to wear a suit. How about we have Formal Friday every week around the house?" He laughs at me and gestures to the black-and-white sundress I bought today which is laid out on top of his bed.

"Sure, if that means I get to see some cleavage?" He picks up the dress and walks over to me, holding the dress up in front of me as if to assess the effect, then he wraps me up in his arms and starts dancing with me, humming a tune. "Oh, I'm putting on my top hat, tying up my white tie, dancing in my tails…"

I get a dizzying sense of déjà vu when I feel myself swaying like this in Edward's arms, as if I've been here in this moment before. He stops humming to look down at me, a smile in his eyes.

"I never could understand why formal wear means that the guys have to wear more clothes while the women have to wear less, but I guess I'm not going to complain. I would love to see you in a ball gown, Bella. How about a backless dress? Or, even better, a frontless dress? Or, even better, no dress at all!" He stops abruptly and starts unbuttoning my blouse. I laugh and swat his hands away.

"Stop it! Did you want me to show you my new clothes or not." Edward smirks at me, and tries to outsmart my defense with eager fingers.

"Um … No?" he asks, raising his eyebrows. I writhe out of his grasp and back away a few steps, over to the bed where I snatch up the shirt and skirt he picked out with one hand, holding the other in front of me to ward off his advances.

"Hey! Be a good boy and wait for me here, and I'll come back and show you. Okay?" I ask, a bit breathless from excitement as much as our little struggle. He stops in his tracks and looks at me with luminous eyes, that smirk twitching almost into laughter, as he puts his hands in his trouser pockets and answers me mock-meekly,

"Yes, Miss Swan, I'll be right here, waiting for you." I fumble my way out the door and down the hallway to my own bedroom, where I lean back on the inside of the closed door, taking deep breaths. How he gets to me, every time!

I slip out of my jeans and blouse and pick up some nice underwear, pantyhose and a black slip from my drawer before I bring it all with me into the bathroom. A quick shower after spending the whole afternoon in that gritty changing room can't be bad. After cleaning up and pouring myself into the magic panty-and-bra set I quickly hide beneath the decency of a skirt and shirt before checking myself in the mirror.

_Not bad_. I look like my old self, ready for a day of battling Shakespeare with a roomful of new students. I pull my hair back into a simple knot on top of my head, securing it with hairpins, add a little make-up for a more professional look, hesitate, then unbutton a couple more buttons on my new shirt than I would regularly do for my classes. It doesn't hurt to let Edward see the blue bra he likes so much peeking out a tiny bit. Hm, now where are my black heels?

As I walk back into Edward's room, I'm surprised to see that he's changed back into a pair of jeans and that grey t-shirt. It is a very nice t-shirt, and it clings to his chest and shoulders in all the right places, but I would still have preferred to see him in his finery for a little longer. He rises from the bed, where he was sitting when I walked in, and looks at me with a bashful expression I don't quite comprehend. It's not until he speaks that I understand where this is all coming from.

"Um, Miss Swan, the principal sent me here to your private office. He said I'm supposed to be at your disposal until six o'clock in the evening after class, every day for the rest of this week, to atone for my disrespectful behavior in the library this morning."

My mind racing, I draw myself up a bit. Okaay, we're playing a game here. I'm the teacher, he's the errant pupil. Wherever is he going with this, and what does he expect from me? I decide to try and play it by ear, discarding any real life experience I've had of dealing with problematic college students. I'm sure he's not looking for any discussions about how to improve his academic merits. Or maybe he is..? I can't help smiling to myself at the idea that just crossed my head.

"I see, Mr. Masen. And what exactly did the principal propose that I should do with you, every day after class for the rest of the week?" I make my voice cold, but raise my eyebrow with a little smile to suggest that I'm playing along with his idea. Edward swallows and hides his answering smile, his eyes quickly raking over my body and stopping a little longer at the hint of cleavage at the opening of my shirt before returning bashfully to the floor.

"I … I'm not sure, Miss Swan. He said it was entirely up to you to decide how to make use of me. He also told me my English grades were in grave danger."

I crook my finger in a gesture to make him step out onto the floor, away from the bed. He quickly complies and takes a couple of steps forward. I walk around him in a slow circle, before ending up in front of him again, this time closer. I lift his chin to make him meet my eyes.

"So, I am to find a use for you, Mr. Masen? How about you start by telling me what kind of disturbance you caused in the library this morning? Did you talk loudly? Bring food and drink into the reading section? Handle the books with dirty hands? Are you a dirty boy, Mr. Masen?" He swallows before answering, and I look at his Adam's apple bobbing as I let my finger trail briefly across his chest before clasping my hands behind my back and standing up straight. He has a hard time keeping his eyes away from my chest now that my breasts are so eagerly jutting out right in front of him, but he struggles bravely to retain eye contact with me.

"Er, I'm afraid I am a rather dirty boy, Miss Swan. You see, I was caught, excuse me for saying this out loud, but I was caught masturbating in the English literature section of the library." I feel my eyes widen at the shock of the visual this prompts, but I quickly conceal my reaction by narrowing my eyes at Edward.

"Masturbating? That _is_ rather disrespectful, Edward. May I call you Edward?" His eyes dart quickly down at my chest before darting as quickly up again.

"Yes, of course, Miss Swan. You may call me anything you like." His voice is low, as if he's truly repenting of his bad behavior.

"Do you often get these … urges Edward." I look around for the chair, and place it in front of him, at a distance where I can comfortably look at his face without having to lean my head back too far.

I have the surprise of seeing him color a little at my question, as I sit down and cross my legs, allowing the skirt to ride up so that my thigh is exposed. Edward doesn't fail to notice my move, and I see his eyebrows go up a bit in appreciation of the new view.

"Oh, I get them all the time, Miss Swan." He exhales in a tone of frustration.

"And, when you get these urges, Edward, what brings them on?" He is definitely looking down my shirt now, trying not to be too obvious about it.

He bites his lip and looks bashful before giving me a shy smile.

"Oh, it's you, Miss Swan. Every time." I swallow, uncross and cross my legs again, briefly wishing I had forgotten to put on pantyhose and underwear so that I could flash him a little. There's nothing wrong with his attention span, though. Every move I make, his eyes follow me.

"Me? Do you mean to say you're blaming your appallingly dirty behavior on me, Edward?" I make my voice enraged and sit up, leaning forward slightly in my chair so that he may get a clearer view of the top of my breasts. He ogles me gratefully, but replies even more fervently:

"No, never, Miss Swan! You're perfect. It's all my fault, because I'm such a dirty boy. I just … I can't stop thinking about you, _that _way."

I lean back, letting my legs slip slightly apart so that he may get a better view of the top of my thighs, my skirt hitched up above what's probably decent. I can tell that he's getting hard beneath his jeans.

"Oh, and exactly what do you mean when you say you think about me _that _way, Edward?" My voice is displeased, but also encouraging now, as if I really want to know. I let my right hand trace the buttons on my shirt, surreptitiously touching my breast before settling my hand in my lap. This definitely has an effect on Edward, who is beginning to look uncomfortable.

"Um, oh, I think about your mouth, Miss Swan … and your legs … and your gorgeous breasts, if you don't mind me saying so." His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and I briefly cup my sex over the skirt with my hand for a little friction before quickly crossing my legs again as if nothing has happened. Edward stares, and, in a mirror move, quickly adjusts himself.

"Did you just touch yourself, Edward?" I ask, my voice harsh.

"Um, yes, Miss Swan," Edward squeaks out, as if he has a hard time finding his voice.

"Do you mean to tell me that you're hard now, here in my office?" I stare at his crotch, which is sporting what looks like an impressive semi by now.

Edward clears his throat. "Yes, Miss Swan. I'm …. um, quite hard, Miss Swan."

I stand up, pointing to the chair. "Please, Edward, demonstrate to me exactly what you were doing in the library this morning. Have a seat and let me observe your dirty behavior with my own eyes."

Edward obediently shuffles over and takes my place in the chair, slowly unbuckling his belt, and carefully pulling down the top of his jeans and his boxers, to let his erection spring free. He slowly and rhythmically starts pulling on his cock, drawing deep, slightly ragged breaths.

"And what were you thinking, while indulging in these reprehensible actions?" I ask him, arching my brows, folding my arms across my chest in a way that pushes my breasts together and jutting my hip out. Edward swallows, his eyes magnetically drawn to my cleavage.

"I was thinking about you, Miss Swan. About your … mouth."

"What about my mouth, Edward?" He sighs, a sound between pleasure and pain.

"About kissing your mouth. Feeling your tongue in my mouth. Sucking on your tongue." His voice is monotonous, as if hypnotized.

"And did you have any other thoughts about where you wanted my mouth, Edward," I ask, more suggestive now, as if I've already read his mind.

"I … I thought about you kissing me. Kissing my … kissing my cock, Miss Swan," he answers, faintly, as if torn between arousal and embarrassment. "About you taking my cock into your, oh God, into your mouth!" His voice is strangled, and I get the feeling he is already on the verge of cumming.

"Stop, Edward!" I bark out. "Selfish boy, take your hands off your cock, immediately!" He looks dazed, but still has enough of his wits about him to quickly comply with my wishes. His erection drops back against his shirt, pitifully abandoned as his hands drop to his sides. He stares at me, his eyes wild. I straighten up, and clasp my hands behind my back again.

"This school, and I myself, do not support corporal punishment, Edward. However, it is unthinkable that we would condone such behavior or let it go unpunished. It is also unthinkable that we would let you pleasure yourself in such a way on school property without regard for the feelings of others. I have decided that your punishment should be in proportion to the crime." I clear my throat and stare at him, holding his gaze with mine.

"You will come back here every day after class, and you will compensate the school by giving _me_ pleasure. After you've succeeded in giving me pleasure, and only then, will I allow you to pleasure yourself, under my supervision, here where you can molest no others. At the end of the week, if you've succeeded in pleasuring me sufficiently, I will assist you. Think of it as a test to improve your grades. Depending on how well you've done, I will assist you with either my hand, my tongue or … my pussy." I annunciate the last word quietly, and see a wave of blood rise across his neck and face, gone just as quickly as it came, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. "Do you accept my decision, Edward?"

He pulls in a deep breath and replies quietly. "Yes, please Miss Swan. Thank you, Miss Swan."

"Very well, stand up, remove all your clothes and fold them neatly over there." I point to the bed. While Edward takes off his clothes, I lower the blinds and ostensibly lock the door to "my office", although I feel confident that there will be no other "visitors" this afternoon. I step out of my shoes, pull off my panty hose and panties in a couple of swift moves and sit down on the chair, my heart pounding. I feel dizzy. I don't recognize myself. But I'm aroused beyond all reason, and I can tell that Edward's erection is far from fading. I trust that he will tell me if I take this too far. After all, I know that he enjoys oral sex very much.

Once he turns around, naked, I'm ready. So, visibly, is he. With more composure than I thought myself capable of, I instruct him; "Come over here, Edward, and kneel between my knees. I want you to pleasure me with your mouth. Now, can I trust you not to try and touch yourself, or do I have to restrain your hands?" I try to speak severely but kindly.

I see conflicting emotions flit across Edward's slightly flushed face, as he stands before me in all his naked glory. The possible kink effect of being tied up like that first time we were together, against the disadvantage of not being able to touch me.

"I promise to be good, Miss Swan," he replies finally, stepping forward to kneel as requested.

"Very well, I believe you. Now, be a good boy and do as you're told."

I lean back in the chair, and spread my legs widely to accommodate him, hitching my skirt up to give him better access. I see a small, satisfied smile pass across his lips, before he places his hands on my knees, and leans in to kiss my inner thigh. He works me over, gently at first, then more ardently, with his tongue, his lips and his fingers, not bothering to fake hesitancy or clumsiness. In spite of the fact that I try to hang on, in spite of the fact that the strangeness and awkwardness of the situation should disrupt my ability to focus on cumming, it doesn't take Edward more than ten minutes to have me convulsing and crying out into the dusk of the room. I grip his hair with both hands, grinding on him, before I become fully conscious of what I'm doing and let go, trembling. It takes me a little while to gather my wits and my breath, while he leans back on his heels, his hands warm on my thighs for support, taking deep, slow breaths, neither of us speaking.

"Oh, that was … quite impressive, Edward. I am very pleased with your performance. Please, take a seat and let me watch you cum now." I rise on slightly trembling legs and adjust my skirt, gesturing to the chair. Edward gets up in one, smooth movement, even though his legs should be cramped from his time kneeling on the floor. He briefly touches my cheek, a small lapse out of character, before sitting down, and grasping his cock with both hands, a hiss of pleasure escaping his lips. I watch him, captivated by his beauty and the overwhelming power of his desire as he closes his eyes, then opens them to look at me. There is such an urgency in his look as his pace increases that I reply to his unspoken question with an offer.

"Where do you want to cum, Edward?"

"Please, Miss Swan," he chokes out, "please may I come on your tits?" I flush at the word, but quickly unbutton my shirt with trembling fingers, release the clasp of my bra and let the clothes slip to the floor. He goes even faster, moaning slightly when he sees me topless and his mouth hangs half open as if he unconsciously longs to feel my nipples on his tongue. I lean over to catch his lips and kiss his sweet mouth, my naked breasts brushing against his flexing arms and his breath hot on my tongue, before I kneel down before him. It doesn't take long before he starts growling, and then he cries out,

"I'm cumming, Miss Swan, Oh God, so good, I'm cumming!" and with teary eyes he stares at my breasts, where the evidence of his long-awaited orgasm lands in silver ropes. I lean my head back, with my hands on his knees to give him a better angle, trembling with a mixture of excitement and shyness. This is so far from the sexual being I thought I could be, but with Edward I'm stretching my limits, becoming more than I was before, becoming another.

His orgasm over, Edward leans back in the chair, exhausted, but before I can get up awkwardly, to get tissues to wipe myself off, he stretches out a long arm, and catches me, pulling me up to his heaving chest. I recline uncomfortably with my head pressed into his shoulder and start laughing as I feel how our skin glides together, his cum pressed between us, making a glue to unite us. He laughs, too, a breathless, happy sound.

"God, Bella, you blow my mind every single day. Do you know how unbelievably sexy you looked right now, with my cum on you?" He sits up, then helps me rise to my feet with him, our bodies still pressed together. He lowers his head and gives me a passionate kiss on the lips, and I put my arms around his neck holding on for dear life when I feel him lifting me off my feet, only to set me down close to the bed. He bends down quickly, never letting go of me, and fishes his grey t-shirt off the bed before he gently wipes me off, then rubs the last of the sticky fluid off himself before rolling the shirt into a ball and depositing it with a baseball throw in the corner by the door.

He pulls me down on the bed on top of his clothes, and flicks the duvet up around us, as if he knows how I tend to feel exposed after sex. Leaning on his side he cups the side of my face with his hand and just looks at me, his eyes so filled with admiration and love that I don't know if I can stand it.

"Thank you for making my dreams come true," he whispers, his voice low and intense. "And I don't mean just my dirty-boy dreams either, I mean all kinds of dreams. You're such an incredible woman, do you know that?" I kiss his palm and duck my head into the hollow beneath his chin, to avoid those gleaming eyes.

"Honestly, Edward, I had no idea I could do this. I still don't know who that woman was. I'm not sure I want her to emerge again." Edward chuckles.

"Oh, Miss Swan _was _kind of scary, but also a big turn-on for me as I'm sure you could tell. I wouldn't mind seeing her every day for the rest of the week if it would help me _improve my grades_." I blush at the memory. God, I hope no one else ever finds out I act out dominatrix teacher fantasies in the bedroom!

I squirm a little, feeling the skirt bunched beneath me, and realize that it will probably need to go in the wash anyway, damp after our exercises. Lucky that it's not dry cleaning material. I think back on Edward's words. "Were you really that horny in high school, Edward. I mean, you didn't really use to masturbate in the library, did you?" I can hear the smile in his voice when he replies,

"Oh, I knew that would shock you! I was almost hoping you'd try to spank me. No, seriously, I never engaged in self-love outside of the bathroom areas at school, and not very frequently there either. They were pretty disgusting. The privacy of my shower or bed at home was much more comfortable and stress-free." He hugs me tighter. "I didn't have any particularly sexy teachers to fantasize about either, so it was mostly anonymous girls with big tits. I didn't have the guts to keep a stash of pornography in my room because I was afraid someone would find it, so I had to use my imagination most of the time. But trust me, there's nothing wrong with my imagination!"

"I think we've established that," I mumble drily against his chest, and am rewarded by his quiet chuckle.

"What about you, Bella? Did you fantasize about your teachers in high school? Any ghosts I have to compete with?" I snuggle into his side as I think back on those pretty horrible years.

"I wasn't very sexual in high school, Edward. I was this ugly, geeky girl that nobody wanted to include in their extracurricular activities anyway for fear that I would tell my Dad, the chief of police." I swallow. "I mean, I did touch myself, now and then, but my fantasies were pretty tame, and they certainly didn't include any teachers." I shudder as I remember the likes of Coach Clapp, huge and sweaty, with the top of his hairy ass sticking out of his gym uniform whenever he leaned forward on the bench in front of us, yelling at the team.

"No boys, then?" Edward asks. "No high school crushes?" His hand finds mine and our fingers entwine.

"The only date I ever had was junior prom, and that was a complete disaster," I say. "It pretty much put me off boys for years." This is a memory that still stings, and I haven't shared it with anyone. Edward's grip on my hand tightens.

"What happened?" he asks, and the teasing tone in his voice is gone. I sigh. Maybe it would be a good thing to get it off my chest.

"Okay, it's not much of a story, but it was like this: Taylor was this popular guy who was on the football team. He wasn't huge or bulky, but he was built and good-looking and all the girls tried to get his attention. I thought he was cute, too, but he was so far out of my league I was surprised he even knew my name when he started talking to me junior year. You know, nothing big, just asking about homework or if he could borrow my notes in the classes we shared, we did a biology group project together, things like that. I thought it was because he knew my grades were good and he could sponge off me – I was used to that, and I didn't mind so much. I mean, he was cute – I already told you that." I sigh. This is stupid, but I plow on.

"I was completely shocked when he asked me to junior prom, I had no plans to go, and I didn't expect anyone to ask me. I knew he'd recently broken up with his latest girlfriend, so when I understood that he wasn't kidding I thought this was why he asked me, because everyone else he might want to go with was already taken." Edward squeezes my hand, and to prevent interruptions I quickly add, "Edward, I was considered to be like the third to last ugliest girl in junior year, okay? This was either a truly weird or truly chivalrous move on Taylor's part, and I should have been more suspicious." I draw a deep breath.

"To make a long story short, I found an okay dress and then Taylor actually turned up on prom night to my big surprise and my Dad did his big act and intimidated my first-ever date." I blow out a breath, remembering.

"He clearly wasn't intimidated enough, though, because once we got to prom Taylor tried to get me to drink spiked punch and then smoke pot with him and his friends behind the building. I wasn't having any of it, and he got more and more annoyed, ditched me and danced with a lot of other girls. Eventually, though, he relented and asked me to dance, but then he tried to feel me up on the dance floor." I pause for a beat.

"Um, and I didn't know how I felt about that. I mean, it was new and exciting but it made me very uncomfortable at the same time. He asked me to come outside with him, and we kissed in the parking lot. He was a pretty good kisser, although of course I had nothing to compare him with. Things got hot and heavy after a while, but when he tried to move us into the backseat of his Dad's car I baulked and told him no. That's when he called me a frigid bitch and truly ditched me for the night." Edward draws a deep breath, and sits up, pulling me up with him. He holds my shoulders and stares at me.

"He did what?!" I bite my lip, avoiding his gaze.

"Um, he called me a frigid bitch. I was pretty upset. Mrs. Molina found me crying in the hallway and was kind enough to drive me home. I told my Dad I was coming down with something and that I'd told Taylor to stay at the dance. He probably suspected something had happened, but when he could see I wasn't drunk and didn't seem to be physically hurt, he let me go to bed."

Edward hugs me, then seethes. "What a fucking douche bag! I'm surprised your Dad didn't go after him with his gun. You should have told your Dad about him trying to get you to smoke pot – a little police brutality and a night in jail would have done that asshole good."

I touch his face and give him a small smile. "Thanks, I appreciate the sentiment, but let me finish." I settle down against his chest again, clutching his hand in mine.

"Okay, but the worst part came later. See, I found out at school by and by that Taylor had made this bet against his best friend Mike that he could get in my pants junior prom night, because clearly I would be so grateful for his attention that I would let him take my virginity. It was supposed to be a joke, getting the Chief of Police's ugly daughter to put out. Only it didn't work, so Taylor lost, and that's why he was so furious with me." I swallow.

"I guess he could have lied about it and made me out to be a slut instead, but he was supposed to bring Mike my panties as proof, and when he couldn't I guess he decided to get his revenge by telling everyone what a frigid, ugly frump I was." I feel tears in my eyes, even after all this time. Oh, this is silly, why did I bring it up?

Edward groans. "I can't believe it! What an absolute bunch of shitheads the people in your school must have been!" He holds my face up to his, and when he notices my tears, his expression softens. "Hey, don't cry Bella. They're not worth it. They were immature, pathetic, small-minded idiots with tiny cocks and I'm sure they're dying of boredom today, working menial jobs, crying and wanking off every night because no woman in her right mind would ever want to touch them with a ten-foot pole. If they could see you now, they would bash their own heads in with a blunt instrument." I start laughing, in spite of myself, because he's spouting nonsense.

"Aaanyway, that's the story of my love life in high school, so now you know, Edward. No happy memories," I conclude, kissing him lightly on the lips to show how much I appreciate his support.

"No, I can see that I'm the lucky guy whose task it is to finally give you _a lot_ of happy memories," Edward replies, rolling me over on my back and deepening the kiss before proceeding to give me yet another happy memory.

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**A/N: Well, this was a bit hard to write, but Edward was clamoring for his fantasy to come true so I had to comply. Did you go to your prom? Was it a big deal? I won't tell you my story, but it did involve a cute teacher, I promise! Please leave a review if you have the time, I appreciate your comments! **


	47. Chapter 47

**A/N: Disclaimer - Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. My wonderful beta has been forced to take a time-out so, in the meantime, please put up with my mistakes! Thank you for reading!**

* * *

_I'm going backwards through time at the speed of light  
I'm yours, you're mine, two satellites  
Not alone  
No, we're not alone_

_A freeze-frame of your eye in the strobe light_  
_Sweat dripping down from your brow, hold tight_  
_Don't let go_  
_Don't you let me go_

_And I never was smart with love_  
_I let the bad ones in and the good ones go_  
_But I'm gonna love you like I've never been hurt before_  
_I'm gonna love you like I'm indestructible_  
_Your love is ultra magnetic and it's taking over_  
_This is hardcore_  
_And I'm indestructible_

Robyn: Indestructible

* * *

**Chapter 47**

**BPOV**

Friday afternoon, we take our run on the beach earlier than usual. It's an overcast day, which makes the air cooler, and I think I can feel the sky weighing down on us from above, a possible sign of approaching thunder. After showering we eat a light dinner before we retire to our respective bathrooms to get ready for our evening out. I put a little more care into my make-up, giving myself smoky eyes and a dusting of sparkly powder over my shoulders and cleavage before I put on my black pashmina shawl. The high waist of my black-and-white dress emphasizes my bust and gives a nice curve to my back while the deep v of the neckline in front leaves my shoulders and collarbones bare, but I can use the shawl to cover the imperfections and my fat arms. It's a good compromise between decent and sexy.

When I meet Edward in the hallway, however, he takes my breath away. In a dark suit, with the green tie heightening the color of his eyes, he looks as if he just stepped off the red carpet at the Academy Awards. _Where are the paparazzi?_ When he looks at me, I flush at the intensity of his gaze. His face mirrors my feeling of awe, although I can't for the life of me believe that I look half as good as he does. He walks up, sliding his arm around me and leans in to carefully kiss my cheek, whispering

"You're perfect, Bella."

I'm at a complete loss for words, so I just smile at him, hyperaware of that soft newly shaved cheek and the sharp jaw line that I long to trace with my fingers.

I let him drive us in the Volvo, because I'd rather not drive in heels and a long dress, and because this way I can lean my head on the headrest and ogle him as much as I like. He's perfectly aware of what I'm doing and once in a while he looks over at me and smiles a knowing smile. It takes a lot of willpower on my part not to start touching him inappropriately.

The sky is still overcast and the light is slowly fading over the strange wasteland of intertwined highways that is downtown Los Angeles. Traffic is heavy, but we have plenty of time to find parking and walk up to the concert hall, where we are meeting Rose and Emmet. The surreal steel flower that is Disney Concert Hall glows across the intersection as we wait for the light to turn and I see people walking up and down the stairs, gathering in groups on the sidewalk.

Edward clutches my hand in his while I hold the shawl together with my other hand against the small gusts of wind at the traffic passing and I wonder for a moment if he's nervous. He's always seemed reluctant to go downtown and this is the first time we're out on a really public date together. I squeeze his hand reassuringly and look up at him to see his jaw working and his eyebrows knitted together in a scowl. He _is_ nervous.

"Edward, is everything all right?" I ask. He quickly looks over at me, and his face clears as he catches my concerned expression.

"I'm fine, Bella. I'm just not used to this." He jerks his head in the direction of the concert hall. "It's been a while. But I look forward to this evening, really." He smiles, and this time I can see that it reaches his eyes. "And I really enjoy being out on a date with you."

As the light changes and people start moving around us, he puts his arm around my shoulders and walks me across the street, into the crowd of people spilling in and out of the hall. Everyone looks good but very few people are in formal wear so I feel confident that we won't stand out as either overdressed or underdressed. When I see Rosalie outside the glass doors waving at me, I point her out to Edward, who steers us in the right direction with his hand pressing gently at the small of my back and his hand on my arm, ready to save me if I should trip and fall in my heels.

"There you are! I thought you got stuck in traffic. Don't you have your cell phone on, Bella?" Rosalie stares accusingly at me. She's absolutely stunning as usual, in a red silk dress with a swirly skirt that hugs her hips and a draped neckline that shows off her beautiful shoulders. Emmett hovers at her back, grinning and waving at me, wearing a tuxedo that looks as if he's about to burst right out of it. I check my watch.

"No, it's in my purse and I probably didn't hear it over the traffic, but we're not late or anything. The concert starts in twenty minutes, doesn't it?" I try not to sound defensive, since Rose all too easily makes me feel in the wrong. She relaxes and smiles, putting her hand on my arm and leaning in for an air kiss that won't upset our make-up.

"No, you're not late, but I was worried you were going to miss the chance to have complimentary drinks with us before the concert. Hurry up, this way: the VIP:s are all gathered over there." She gives Edward a quick once-over and a tight smile before she turns around and takes Emmett's arm, revealing a back to her dress that is low enough to make my eyes pop, yet not so low that I have to worry someone will accidentally glimpse the top of her thong. Her silver heels and silver purse is matched by a silver necklace with a long chain that dangles enticingly between her shoulder blades, ending in a drop-shaped sparkling red stone. I long to yank it, but I don't.

Edward raises his eyebrows at me in a silent question, before taking my arm and tagging along. He leans in to whisper, "Is Rosalie mad at me?" I shrug and shake my head. Who knows what goes on in that pretty head of hers?

"Maybe she just hoped to see you in a tux," I mumble and Edward's eyes crinkle as he watches Emmett yanking at his shirt collar with the uncomfortable appearance of a man who would much rather be heading to a baseball game in a t-shirt right now. Rosalie leads the way to the far side of the hall, which has been cordoned off. There's a table with champagne flutes set up and waiters circle among the guests collecting empty glasses and distributing new ones. Rosalie waves imperially at a waiter and as soon as we have our glasses she turns to us and smiles.

"I propose a toast: to double dates, music and men in tuxedos." Emmett snorts, but at a glance from Rosalie he quickly raises his glass in the air.

"Yeah. What she said," he chimes in, before downing his glass in one gulp. "Man, I need to get much drunker than this if I'm going to last the night," he adds, shaking his head and twitching slightly as if his body is still unused to the restraints of the tux. He nods at Edward and whines: "And why does he get away with a suit? That looks a hundred times more comfortable than this shit!" He gestures to the bow under his chin that does indeed look a little bit too tight for comfort.

Edward smiles and holds out his hand to shake. "Hey, it's great to see you too, Emmett. If I'd known this was a black tie occasion, I would have tried so much harder. I mean, no one's going to have eyes for me now that you're here." Emmett rolls his eyes and shakes Edward's hand, hard enough to make him wince slightly.

"Yeah, sure, Eddie-boy. As long as our dates here stick around, I'm pretty sure we could both be wearing dirty overalls and no one would notice." He looks over at Rosalie, his face glowing with pride and she returns his smile, demurely lowering her eyes while sipping at her champagne.

"The tuxedo was your idea, Rose, I take it," I say, looking around and noticing that indeed, very few men seem to be wearing anything more formal than a dark suit and tie. She raises one elegant shoulder.

"What can I say: I prefer a man in a tux." She looks at Emmett and her smile is almost predatory. "And I guess I'm the kind of woman who gets what she wants." He moves closer and puts his arm around her waist, pulling her slowly into his body.

"Yeah, baby, that you are," he chuckles, nuzzling her neck briefly before giving her behind a pat and releasing her. When Rosalie only smiles at him I'm surprised, because I would have expected a slap on the back of the head for that little gesture of condescension. Maybe Rose is changing, too.

Draining her glass and leaving it to one of the passing waiters, she fishes her phone out of her sparkling purse and takes a step back, snapping Emmett's picture.

"I've got to commemorate this moment. Smile for me, baby!" Emmett grins and straightens up, flexing his huge shoulders as if he wants to show off the bulk of muscle beneath the dark fabric.

"You do that, sweetheart, because it may be a mighty long time before you get me into one of these again." Rose snorts, and turns towards me and Edward.

"Oh, please, all I have to do is bribe you and you'll do anything I ask. Smile for the camera, beautiful people!" Before I can gather my wits, Rosalie has snapped a picture of us. Edward instinctively steps closer, putting an arm around my waist as the flash goes off again. I open my mouth to protest, but the moment is already over and Rose is putting her phone away, giggling at Emmett who's whispering something in her ear, probably of a lewd nature.

I look a question at Edward, but he just shrugs as if it doesn't matter, then smiles at me.

"I should have thought about taking your picture before we left the house, Bella. You're always beautiful, but tonight you're radiant. You outshine the moon." He leans in to place a soft kiss on my temple, curling his fingers around my hip. I feel a bit unsteady on my feet - and not just because of my heels.

"The moon?" I smile at him. "'The fickle moon, that monthly changes in her circle orb' – is that how you see me, Edward?" He frowns at me, as if he almost catches the Shakespeare quotation, then smiles and replies,

"What I meant was of course that you are the 'goddess of my idolatry', my personal moon goddess." He lets go of my waist and with tender fingers he traces a strand of my hair that has escaped from the twist and is resting against my neck, twining it carefully.

"I believe that you will always influence me, no matter if you are reigning in your full glory from the sky or remain invisible, no matter if you appear to be near or far." His voice is thoughtful, and when he looks into my eyes, his gaze is a deep, sea green, impossible to look away from in its sincerity and beauty.

"You know how the moon pulls the water from the sea? Our bodies are made of 60 per cent water, Bella. None of us can escape the gravitational pull of the moon. That's the kind of pull you will always have on me."

I swallow. "Always" is a big word, but I don't call him out on it. In this moment I want to believe him, because that is how I feel, too; as if a gravitational force unknown to me had suddenly been released and now I have no choice but to circle it, helpless as a magnet against the magnetic North. I remember the words of the poet Francois Villon: "He who escapes love is a lucky man." Because once captured, there may be no escape.

A flash of light in the corner of my eye alarms me, until I turn around and see that a photographer is doing the rounds, taking pictures. I haven't seen anyone I recognize, but I suppose there could be celebrities here tonight even if I'm too ignorant to know them. Edward puts his hand on my arm and speaks close to my ear.

"Could you take my glass, please? I have to make a quick visit to the bathroom before the concert begins." I look up, surprised at the abruptness of his request and accept his flute as he quickly moves away from me, beyond the cordoned-off area. The suit fits him and somehow emphasizes his smooth stride and lean body. He looks like a handsome young man of the world, completely in his element among this crowd. I see heads turn to watch him as he passes people by.

I look around for Rose and Emmett and see her posing in front of the photographer, flashing the sort of perfect smile that always looks good in pictures. As soon as the photographer is done I catch her eye, and she waves me over. She empties her glass and encourages me to do the same, then gets a waiter to take care of our empty glasses before sweeping away, like a red yacht at top speed.

"Bella! Come on, let's find our seats!" she cries over her shoulder. I hurry my steps to catch up with her and hook my arm under hers, leaning in to get a chance to exchange a few words with her under cover of the movement and voices of people streaming toward the entrances to the concert hall itself. Emmett seems to take the hint and drifts back a couple of paces, looking around for Edward.

Rose frowns. "Where _is_ Edward?"

"He just went off for a quick bathroom break, we should wait for him outside the doors where he'll see us." I speak in a low voice near Rosalie's ear. "Did you get a chance to look at that thing we talked about before?" Rosalie glances at me with a brief, lopsided smile and smacks her tongue at me.

"Tsk, tsk, Bella, so impatient." She looks over her shoulder, then replies more seriously. "I have made some inquiries but nothing conclusive has come back yet. Give it another week." I nod, unhappily. I am beginning to wonder if this was a wise move on my part. Maybe it will drive a wedge between Edward and Rosalie, and between Edward and me? I straighten my back and squeeze Rosalie's arm before letting her go. Even if I have to pay the price, giving Edward closure must be worth it. He deserves a full and happy life even if it means alienating him from us and our relationship.

"Thanks, Rose, I appreciate your help," I mumble, before standing back to let Emmett catch up with us. He has found Edward in the crowd and now his big arm is wrapped around Edward's shoulders, giving him a man hug, his voice booming above the crowd, "Now, Eddie baby, I hear you're such a music whiz. Can you enlighten me on what this evening will be all about?"

Rosalie shows our tickets to an usher and we are given programs and guided to our seats, front row balcony, where we have a clear view of the amazing architecture and the stage. I let my eyes trail around the huge room, taking in the warm golden colors and the muted lighting that manages to create an atmosphere of intimacy in spite of the impressive space.

Edward leans forward, looks across me at Rosalie and asks, "Do you come here often? Did you say that this was some kind of donor event?" He gestures to the hall, which is almost filled to the last seat with people even though this is summer and out of the normal LA Phil season. Rose shakes her hair out and pulls her golden curls across her shoulder before replying.

"My firm is one of the LA Phil sponsors, but I contribute privately, too. Tonight is about raising money for the Youth Orchestra of Los Angeles. There's a visiting youth choir and chamber orchestra from Europe playing." She nods at the seats high up on the other side, and I can tell that they're mainly filled with young people. "The LA Phil has invited kids who are enrolled in the program to come listen. Some of us are paying through our noses for tonight's tickets, but it's totally worth it."

She flashes her brilliant smile at me, and I briefly think about Rose's relationship to kids. She was supportive when I lost Lily, but at that point our friendship was one of distance; she was locked in her career and I think she assumed that James was there, giving me all the emotional support I needed. I was too proud or too miserable to tell her otherwise. Like me, now she is at a stage of her life when time is running out if she wants to be a mother, yet we've never spoken at depth about it. Similar to Rose's failure to commit to any one man for any longer period of time, this is a subject I don't feel comfortable raising. Maybe it's a situation of her choice, maybe it's a source of secret bitterness, and I don't want to assume either way.

I watch her as she leans into Emmett when he whispers something in her ear, and clutches his big hand on the seat rest between them. She seems happy, and Emmett is very different from the men I've seen her date in the past, not so much physically – Rose always seemed to go for the huge guys – as in his personality. This goofy, easygoing, yet sincere self-made man is a refreshing change from the career obsessed lawyers or business men Rose is usually picking up along the way and discarding just as fast. I hope she gives him a chance to prove that he's worth keeping.

I lean back in my seat and sigh as the orchestra enters and the crowd starts clapping. Edward picks up my hand and presses his warm lips to my knuckles, and the gesture is enough to make the butterflies inside me lift and beat against my ribcage in a brief, confusing cloud of happiness. As the choir enters, I look at their fresh young faces turned eagerly, yet somberly, up towards the blinding lights and the audience, which must be nothing but a dark sea of invisible strangers. They look so _young._ I wonder what their dreams are and if tonight will be a high point of their lives, a memory cherished in years to come, or a mundane experience quickly lost to other and more exciting exploits.

As the conductor takes the stand everything falls silent and all eyes are on him. Then, the opening chords of The Messiah fill the hall, formal, elegant music, infused with a sort of somber joy, and I find myself drawn in by the emotion it evokes in me. This is a short version of Handel's work, skipping most of the solo arias and retaining some but not all of the recitatives, using young soloists from the choir instead of employing professional singers. What the voices lack in volume they make up for in freshness and vibrancy. The chamber orchestra of 25 people is outnumbered by the choir two to one. They manage to leave room to the young voices without appearing to hold back.

When a slender soprano who looks no more than seventeen takes the stand to sing "I know that my redeemer liveth", I feel tears start at the quiet, yet joyful expression of her clear voice climbing like a bird towards the sky. The concept of an afterlife has always been dim and doubtful to me, but at this moment I have no trouble believing that there is a heaven where souls like Lily's rest, lightly as a leaf blown by a gentle wind.

Edward grips my hand hard, and I wonder if he's seen my teary eyes in the dim light or if he's caught up in some emotional moment all his own. I know that he feels strongly about music. I just don't know if Handel's Messias means anything to him personally. When the applause starts, Edward is one of the first people on his feet, a big smile on his face as he claps emphatically and I stand up and join him. These young people are truly amazing.

After everyone has taken their bows, the conductor announces a final piece which the choir will perform on their own; 'Magnum Mysterium' by Morten Lauridsen, composer in residence of the Los Angeles Master Chorale, which is clearly a nod of gratitude to the LA Phil for inviting them to sing. It's a Nativity piece which is odd for the season but fits in with the Messiah. The audience settles down and I hear an audible sigh from Rose's side: she is clearly weary of her role as patroness of the arts. I glance over at Edward and smile when I see that he's leaning forward slightly, elbows on his knees, still intent on hearing everything the choir has to give.

The piece starts out quiet as a lullaby, almost as if the choir is singing the baby Jesus to sleep, then swells in quiet jubilation, as if the angels outside had suddenly lifted the roof of the stable to look in at the miracle.

I don't know why, but suddenly I am full out crying, big tears sliding from my eyes without a sound. It's the beauty of the melody and the way the different trebles keep interweaving with each other, crashing, then resolving, like snow melting from the rooftops and icicles bursting into a cloud of sparkling silver, shattered by the sun. It's the beauty of those young faces uplifted in song, so completely focused on the music with expressions of serious joy. It makes me feel nostalgia for something I've never experienced: to be a part of a shared community, something bigger than myself, moving with hope towards a future we have yet to see.

I quickly find a tissue in my purse as we rise and wipe my eyes under cover of the final, thunderous applause. Rose leans over, concerned and takes my arm.

"Are you all right, Bella?" I just shake my head and swallow, smiling at her to show that all is well.

"Just sentimental, I guess. Sorry, but that was really beautiful."

I feel Edward's hands on my shoulders and turn to him, embarrassed at my lack of composure and probably ruined face. He just leans down and kisses my cheek as if he knows exactly why I'm acting this way before encircling me in his arms pressing me with my back against his chest as he resumes clapping. And all at once it is as if we are a community of two people, an island in a sea of humanity standing in our own little bubble amidst the slowly lapping emotion of a hall full of strangers, sharing this moment in time. I can't remember ever feeling this close to someone before, and I realize something with the clarity of a light going on in a dark room: Edward has become my family, the closest to one that I've got.

It's quite a while before we've followed the stream of humanity moving like a river towards the exit, and spill out onto the sidewalk in the summer night. Rosalie looks around at us, squeezing Emmett's arm in hers.

"Well, that was just about as much classical music as I can take even for a good cause," she sighs.

I look at Edward, who's standing with his hands in his trouser pockets, frowning at the ground. His head snaps up at Rose's comment and he seems to be holding back his irritation when he replies;

"I for one thought that this was an amazing evening and I'm really grateful to you for bringing us along. I haven't heard 'The Messiah' live like this before. I think that it's a really good thing that you support this work and that they bring kids in to listen, so they can see what music can be like." He looks at me, and his face softens. "What did you think, Bella?"

I make a face. "I pretty much cried my eyes out, so I'd like to think that this was an exceptionally good concert, otherwise it means that there's something wrong with me."

Edward takes a step closer and folds my hand in his. "There's absolutely nothing wrong with you Bella. Music is supposed to make you feel things, and this was some very powerful music we heard tonight. There's no need to feel embarrassed."

Rose looks at us as if she's not sure whether to be touched or disgusted by our behavior.

"Rrrriiight, well, I'm glad that my idea for an evening's entertainment worked out so well. And now, I really need a drink. Come on, the night is young and we're all dressed up and need a place to go! Margaritas, Bella?" I look over at Edward, uncertain if this is what he wants. He nods at me.

"Sure, why not. But we have the car, so I'm going to be the designated driver tonight in case you ladies overdo the cocktails. Did you bring a car?" he asks Emmett, who smirks at us.

"Hell, yeah. Rose lets me drive her Porsche now, so I'm not even thinking about bringing my own car anymore. I agree with Edward: let us men do the driving and you can drink yourself silly while we watch. What about dancing? I'm not sure how well I'll do in this monkey suit, but I am willing to try."

Rose brightens up. "Perfect! I know just the place, with great drinks and good music. It's in Hollywood. Will you follow us," she asks Edward, "or should I just text Bella the address?" Edward shakes his head.

"With the traffic, I'll probably lose you somewhere along the way. Text Bella the instructions, and she can read them out to me while I drive." We part ways to find our cars: Rosalie has of course taken advantage of the possibility of valet parking and is parked in a different space.

As we weave our way through the downtown traffic towards the exit for the freeway, I look at Edward's profile and allow myself to dream for a little while. What if we were to stay together, move in together in an apartment of our own, maybe even get married? He could come to San Francisco, finish his college degree and decide what he wants to do in life. Images of me and Edward fill my mind; walking across campus, talking and laughing, having lunch together, making a home together. Why couldn't we have that, when everything feels so right?

Then I think about his family possibly disowning him or accusing him of something hateful. I imagine Edward crumbling under accusations, unfair or justified, I don't know. Could I ever make that up to him? Could I replace the family that he's running away from? Do I want that?

And then it strikes me what I would feel if I was a mother whose young son returned home with a girlfriend twice his age. Skepticism at best, outrage at the worst. _I_ might be enough to drive a wedge between Edward and his family. And then, kids. I don't know if I'll ever be able to give Edward children, should he want them. That is a big thing; to deprive a man of the possibility of having a son or a daughter. And with Edward's genes it would be a crime against humanity to deprive him of that chance. I imagine myself being chased by federal authorities for killing America's supply of super talented and handsome boys.

I realize that it's too soon to talk about marriage or children in a serious way, but I see that this might be a problem. How can I raise the question without making Edward feel that I'm pushing him for something I want that he's not ready for? Would he even be honest to me if I asked him about kids, or would he say whatever he thought that I wanted to hear? I sigh inwardly. It's frustrating how something so good can also be so complicated.

"You're so quiet, Bella. What are you thinking?" Edward's voice breaks me out of my reverie. He gives me a quick look, then returns his eyes to the road.

"Didn't you want to come out with Rose and Emmett tonight?" he asks. "I just assumed that you would since Rose is your friend, but if you don't want to it's fine …" I squeeze his thigh in a reassuring gesture and quickly put his mind at ease:

"It's okay. I'm normally not a party person, but as long as you're coming I think I'm going to enjoy it. At least now I know that Rose won't try to hook me up with one of her gay lawyer friends."

Edward's mouth quirks up as he asks me, "Did she really?"

I shake my head at the memory. Shortly after I finished my dissertation I went down to visit Rose on a weekend when James was out of town on business and I had nothing pressing to do. I didn't tell James I was going, which was probably stupid, but I wasn't in the mood to listen to him criticize my priorities and since he would be out of town there was no point. Rose was seeing some boy wonder from the public attorney's office and insisted that we go out on a double date. Ron, my date, was a very sweet, very good-looking guy, in his late twenties like me. Rose kept pushing us together all night, making us dance, bullying Ron into buying me drinks I didn't really want and so on.

When Rose started snogging her date, we were both embarrassed enough to take a hike, and ended up walking around for an hour just talking about everything and nothing and discovered that we liked each other quite a lot. I told him I was married, and had no idea why Rose was acting the way she was. He told me he had a boyfriend, but wasn't comfortable enough to come out of the closet at work, yet. I promised I wouldn't tell Rose. We kept in touch for a while after that weekend, with e-mails and an occasional postcard, but after James found out and made a big stink about me sneaking off and going behind his back, I let that contact peter out.

"It's not much of a story. She made me go with her on a double date, although I was married and the guy turned out to be gay. The two of us unexpectedly hit it off and became good friends that night. I have no idea where he is today, though."

"See, that's just like you, Bella. You get pushed together with some guy you don't even want to be with, and end up making friends." Edward briefly squeezes my hand before turning off at the exit. _Hm._ _Is that how he sees me?_

The club is huge and top end with two intimidating-looking bouncers outside who are bigger than Emmett. The Volvo looks unhappy being carted off with sleeker cars and if Rose and Emmett hadn't been waiting for us outside I think I would have turned tail and run after my trusty car. As it is, I reluctantly allow Edward to pull me along with a strong arm around my waist, as if he can sense my trepidation.

It's still early for clubbing and we have no trouble getting in, even if there are a number of people drinking and dancing once we get inside. The club is decorated in blue and silver, with artful lighting that makes you feel as if you're under the sea, water moving over the ceiling and girls resembling mermaids in short silver dresses and tights dancing on small stages in the corners of the dance floor.

Rose tips a waiter who finds us a booth, and quickly brings us drinks. I sip my Margarita and look around, feeling a bit out of place in my long dress. Most girls here have fashionable barely-there dresses. The music is almost loud enough to prevent conversation and I can feel the bass reverberating in my breastbone. Edward touches my arm and mouths "Do you want to dance?"

I'm not a good dancer, and in heels I'm a menace to my own and others' safety. But there's something irresistible about Edward in a dark suit, asking me to dance, green eyes glinting in the strobe light from the dance floor. _Oh, what the hell!_ "Yes!" I mouth back, and he slides out of the booth and gives me a hand to follow him. Once I'm on my feet he wraps his arm protectively around me and leads me out on the dance floor, moving through the churn of bodies until he reaches a relatively empty space. He turns to me and we start dancing.

It's like a dream. I forget my awkwardness, I forget my heels and everything that makes me uncomfortable. All I hear is the deep beat, all I see is Edward's eyes and all I feel is his hands on me. He never lets me go completely, circling me, spinning me, drawing me in and turning me around. All I have to do is follow him and follow the rhythm that says "I want you, I want you, I want you".

My hair falls out of its twist, and I impatiently pull it up into a ponytail instead without stopping, my arms above my head, my shawl trailing around my waist. Edward smiles and picks up the ends of the shawl, using it as a net to pull my hips to him, then letting go to grind briefly into me from behind, kissing my bare neck with hot lips. We're both flushed and panting by the time the song ends, and I gesture to Edward that I need some water.

"Looks like someone is having a good time," Rose smirks at me when we land at our table, Edward is out of his jacket and busy rolling his shirt sleeves up, exposing his lean forearms. I wave my hands in front of my face, which feels as if it's tomato red, and bunch my shawl impatiently into the corner of the seat with my purse.

"I thought I was in good shape, but I'm obviously not." I pant. "How can dancing with anyone make you this tired?" Edward bumps my hip with his hip on the seat.

"You know I can tire you out, sweetheart, just give me the chance," he quips teasingly. I giggle at him.

"Oh, you'll get a chance soon enough, just let me have some water first." I steal his water bottle and take a deep swig. His eyes are locked on my mouth as I hand the bottle back to him, and the look he turns on me is filled with something I can only interpret as desire. He briefly wipes a thumb across the corner of my mouth where a drop of water is running down my chin. It's all I can do not to slip his thumb into my mouth. _Hm, I think I may owe him an oral favor. _

Rose clears her throat, annoyed. "Well, if you want to dance some more, please do it now, because I don't plan to watch your purse all night, Bella. And try to keep it PG 13 on the dance floor, okay?" I throw an indignant look her way. If anyone needs to be kept in line it sure isn't me!

"Come on, let's move before Grumpy here starts chewing our ears off," I mutter, and push Edward before me out of the booth. I can feel his body shaking with laughter as we make our way back out there, pressed together against the crowd of jumping bodies. I tap his shoulder and mouth, "What?" He just laughs more and then mouths back "Grumpy!" pointing in the direction we came from. I shake my head, but then once more I'm taken over by the music, and start moving to the rhythm.

In a shirt and tie, with rolled-up sleeves, Edward looks slightly disheveled but even more irresistible than before. I want to peel him out of his clothes, but have to content myself with the tantalizing view of how his shirt clings to his damp skin. He is sex on legs, so at ease in his body, flirting with every sinuous movement of his shoulders and every sway of his hips, his eyes locked on mine the whole time, filled with mirth and burning with desire. I never experienced this before; dancing turning into foreplay, but everywhere he touches me, I'm on fire.

When the music shifts and becomes slower, I'm out of breath but reluctant to leave the dance floor. Who knows when I will get this chance again? And Edward doesn't hesitate. He pulls me into his body and soon we're slowly swaying, circling round the floor, my body pressed into his and the heat between us either unbearable or wonderful. My breaths are hot against his shoulder and I can feel his heartbeats through his thin shirt, steady as a drum. When I press my hips against him, I can feel my own desire reflected in his for me.

His lips touch my neck just below my ear, and I almost whimper aloud. "I want you so much right now, Bella," he whispers. "Do you want me, too?" I squeeze his upper arm hard, so that my nails press into his skin through the fabric. What I really want is to bite his shoulder, feel that hard muscle between my teeth and the shudder that goes through him when I do.

"I'll take that as a yes," Edward continues and briefly lets his hand on my hip drift down to cup my ass. It's all I can do not to grab his ass with both hands and squeeze him, but I restrain myself.

When the music picks up again, he takes my hand and slowly leads me back to our table. Emmett sits alone, nursing his beer and looks up with a grin when he sees us. "I'm glad you're back. Rose is getting out of hand." Edward gives me room to sit down before he drags his hand through his damp hair and straightens his back.

"We're thinking about heading out. What about you guys? Are you staying?" Emmett quirks an eyebrow and nods towards the bar.

"I'm just following orders, but I think we're going to do a little old fashioned grinding before we call it a night. There's Rose; why don't you ask her?"

Rose is striding through the crowd, which parts before her like the Red Sea, looking magnificent but pissed off. She dumps down across from me and stares accusingly at Edward. "I wouldn't go near the rest rooms if I were you. I had two skanks asking me about you in the line to the bathroom," she turns to Emmett "and then a slimeball in an Armani suit had the nerve to try to pick me up by asking me if I wanted to share a line with him. What was that?! I ask you; do I look like that kind of woman?"

Emmett shakes his head. "That's disrespectful. Do you want me to rip his head off for you, baby?"

Rose smiles at him, devilish, and her eyes glint with humor. "I was hoping you'd say that, sweetheart, but I took care of it myself." I look at her suspiciously.

"What did you do, Rose? Handcuff him and call the cops on him?" She looks terribly smug now.

"Oh no, I kneed him in the balls and then told him that my boyfriend worked in the LAPD and he was lucky that my boyfriend wasn't around when he asked me."

Emmett kisses her deeply and then stares at her admiringly. "Damn, woman, you make me want you more every day. Do you really have a pair of handcuffs in your purse? That is so hot!"

Rose just smiles a lazy smile and twists her fingers in his hair as she pulls him in for another kiss. "For you, Emmett? Anything."

I look over at Edward and wave my hand in a "let's get out of here" gesture, scooping up my purse and wrap from the seat and sliding out of the booth.

"Thank you for an exciting night out, but we're leaving now. Rose, Emmett," I nod at them as they break the kiss to stare up at us, "don't do anything that I wouldn't do. Goodnight."

Edward leans over to shake Emmett's hand and Rose gives me a small, ironic smile and a wave. "The night is still young but you go ahead. I'll call you next week, Bella. We should get together for lunch, okay?" I feel something twist in my gut. Will she have news for me? Good or bad? Does she know something she's not telling? No, if Rose knew something she would tell me now. I take a deep breath and force myself to relax.

"Yes, we should. Anytime is fine, just give me a call." I look up at Edward. "I just need a quick trip to the ladies room before we go. Meet me at the entrance?" He nods and smiles.

"No, sure, I'll come with you."

As we make our way toward the back of the club, I'm relieved to see that there doesn't seem to be a waiting line to the ladies room. I slip in the door and enter a vast room with at least ten booths and a huge mirror along the opposite wall with wash basins and tables for make-up. There are other women in there, but I don't look around as I quickly find an empty booth and lock myself in to relieve myself. Almost immediately, I hear a gaggle of voices as a group of women burst into the bathroom from the hall, giggling and talking over one another.

"My God! Did you see him? Isn't he like the most gorgeous guy you've ever seen?"

"He's sex on a stick! Did you see him dancing? Yum!" A new burst of giggles.

"We should hurry up and stalk him when he comes out of the men's room. Ask him to dance!"

"Or ask for his number!"

"He could do a number on me, anytime!"

"But he's here with someone, he was dancing with that woman in the long dress for the longest time. Do you think she's like, I don't know, his date or something?"

I realize that they must be talking about Edward, Edward and me. Oh, no, this is uncomfortable. I don't know if I should hurry up and leave or skulk in here until they do.

"No, she must be a relative or his boss or something, she's way older than him! I'm sure I could get him to ditch her and go home with me!"

"Maybe he likes older women? Maybe he's her gigolo?" More giggles.

"Oh, I'd pay good money to get my hands on that fine piece of ass," someone chuckles, which leads to whoops and more lewd comments. I clench my teeth and straighten my dress. I've had quite enough of this.

I open the door to the booth and stride confidently towards the wash basins. Four young women in their twenties with bouncy hair, short dresses and spiky heels are putting on make-up by the mirror. When they catch sight of me, they fall silent. One of them stifles her giggles, the rest look everywhere but at me.

I wash my hands and reapply my lip gloss, taking my time. I don't want them to think that I'm embarrassed, when they are the ones that should be. One of them, a redhead in a blue sparkly dress clears her throat and speaks, surprising me.

"Sorry, we were, um, discussing the man you were dancing with earlier. Are you his date? Do you know him?"

I stare at her in the mirror. She has a very pretty face, but I don't like her catty eyes. When I turn around and take a step closer to her, she cringes. I guess I must look pretty angry.

"Not that it's any of your business, but that's my boyfriend you're talking about." I move towards the door, turning around with my hand on the doorknob. "And if I were you, ladies, I wouldn't bite my tongue anytime soon. You might be poisoned by all that venom."

Fuming, I exit and almost run into Edward. He catches me by the shoulders and looks at me, concerned.

"Hey, Bella are you all right?" I straighten my back and start moving towards the exit, pulling Edward along with me.

"Nothing important, just a bunch of idiots in the ladies room. Let's go home." Edward takes long strides, keeping up with me, holding his arm protectively around my back, as I walk out.

On the drive back, I leave the music on high and pretend to be too tired to talk, leaning back against the head rest with my eyes closed. Edward touches my cheek a couple of times, as if to check that I'm still with him, and I lean my head towards him without opening my eyes. I _am_ tired, and a little bit confused. Tonight was like a merry-go-round that left my emotions spinning from elation to anxiety to anger and back again. But through it all, I know that I am stronger than I was before and that I want Edward more than I've ever wanted anyone – and that is all I need to know. The rest is unimportant.

When Edward parks the car and opens the car door for me, I step out quickly and hug him, pressing my cheek into his shoulder and my fingers into his back, feeling for the muscle and bone, the warm, solid presence of him.

"I need you, so much," I whisper, and he bends his head down to catch my words, stroking my back soothingly.

"You know I need you, too, Bella," he murmurs.

We walk up the stairs and enter the house, still entwined with our arms around each other, and shed our shoes, keys, clothes in the hall, kissing as our touches become more frantic and needy, making a trail to my bedroom, which is closest. We land clumsily on the bed in the darkness. I fumble with the clasp to my bra trying to help Edward out of his boxers with my toes, while he's wiggling my panties off and swearing softly when he gets stuck with his hand under my hip. I can't help giggling because it's all so awkward and messy. But then, suddenly, he's right _there,_ warm and hard, pressing against my bare center, and my breath hitches as my insides go hot and liquid. He kisses me deeply and I moan into his mouth. I need him inside me, so badly.

"Wait," Edward pants, as I raise my hips and try to pull him into me, "I need to get a condom, Bella." My mind spins around, trying to do the math in the middle of my arousal. I've been on the pill for almost three weeks so we should be fine. It's time.

"It's okay, Edward, I've been on the pill long enough. It's safe. I want you like this, now."

He draws in a sharp breath, but doesn't question me. There's just the briefest hesitation before he positions himself and slowly slides into me. _Oh. Yes._ It feels incredible. The noises we both make tell me we can feel it at the same time. It's so much more this way, the skin-on-skin feeling enhanced a hundred times just by the absence of those inches of rubber. I clench myself around him and he makes a noise in his throat that is somewhere between a grunt and a growl.

"Jesus, Bella! This … oh, Christ, you feel so good." He starts kissing and biting his way down my throat and shoulders, hitching my hip up for better access as he starts moving. I lift my hips and pull him in with my legs, clutching his back and urging him on. I want to feel all of him now.

"I love you Edward, God, I love you." I'm swept away in an overload of sensation, his lips and hands and warm skin, the weight of him on top of me as he presses me down into the mattress, and the relentless rhythm of his thrusts, going from slower to faster, sliding home deep into me again and again. All I can think is that I never want this to stop. The noises he makes are low and needy, as if he can't wait to push into me again, to feel the resistance and the give, the softness and the way I tighten around him.

Soon, I can feel the familiar pressure building and that swirling feeling as if a galaxy of stars is moving in my head, a glittering spiral pulling me in and down and up and away, faster and faster, dragging my body along without mercy. I cry into his shoulder when I cum, a high sound between pleasure and pain because the feeling is too much, it's bigger than my body, impossible to cover with tears or laughter.

I hear him moan as his hand clutches my hair and I know that he's close, too, unable to slow down, and as he pounds into me, his erratic thrusts push me over another cresting, slow wave of pleasure that leaves me whimpering and limp like a rag doll. Edward stills above me, breathing hard, then rolls over to his side, pulling me with him into a sloppy kiss. I can feel his heart pounding hard in his naked chest that is pressed against mine. My cheeks are wet. _Am I crying?_

Edward kisses my cheeks, my forehead and my eyes, before gently nipping at my lips. We kiss for the longest time and I think that it's almost as if we're making love just with our lips and tongues. He always tastes so good, like strawberries and cream. When Edward smiles against my lips and breaks the kiss, at first I believe I've spoken my thoughts out loud. He blows out a deep breath and kisses the tip of my nose.

"Wow. That was the most intense feeling. If I'd known what it was like to feel you without the barrier of the condom, I don't know if I could have waited this long." I feel myself blushing, in spite of the fact that there's really nothing to be embarrassed about. There's a sticky feeling between my thighs, but I like it. It's as if Edward has marked me as his in yet another way, and I'm in no hurry to break the moment. I can change the sheets later if I have to.

"I know. I felt it, too." I burrow my face into the hollow beneath his throat, smelling him, smelling like sex and skin and Edward. _Could I bottle this, please? _

"Could we do it again sometime?" I ask, and feel him starting to shake with laughter.

"God, Bella, I thought you'd never ask!" The night is still young and there are a thousand galaxies above us, just waiting to be discovered.

* * *

**A/N: I hope I didn't bore you with this long chapter, but I think these two deserved a proper date! What would be your idea of a dream date with Edward? Dancing? A concert? Or something completely different? **

**I have some news: I've mapped out the remaining chapters to this story, and for all those of you who have grown impatient with me, there is light at the end of the tunnel: I predict that we will reach the Epilogue some time in June. (I originally thought that this would be a 40 chapter story, but clearly, I was wrong.) I hope you stick with me to the bittersweet end! It would be cool if we hit 500 reviews by the end of this...**


	48. Chapter 48

**A/N: Disclaimer - Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. My wonderful beta, Trekgeezer is back! ("Beta is back" sounds like the name of a love song..) Thanks to her, hopefully this drama is at least correctly spelled. Thank you for reading!**

* * *

_And the end and the beginning were always there_

_Before the beginning and after the end._

_And all is always now. Words strain,_

_Crack and sometimes break, under the burden,_

_Under the tension, slip, slide, perish,_

_Decay with imprecision, will not stay in place,_

_Will not stay still. Shrieking voices_

_Scolding, mocking, or merely chattering,_

_Always assail them._

T. S Eliot: Burnt Norton

* * *

**Chapter 48**

**BPOV**

It's a week after the concert, just another Thursday morning, when Rosalie calls. Today is Edward's day off and he's in the shower after our morning run. It was just like old times. With the usual how-are-you and we-must-do-that-again-sometime out of the way, Rosalie gets down to business.

"Bella, I need to see you and Edward. Will you be at the house later today? When does he get out of work?" Her voice sounds normal but I still feel apprehensive. Why would she want to see us both right now?

"He's not working today, so he's actually here with me for the day. Why? Has something happened?" I lower my voice, even though I'm sure that Edward can't hear me from where he is. "Did you have news about his family?"

Rosalie makes a little shushing sound. "I just need to talk to you both about your plans for August and I'd like to do it in person. We can go out to dinner later, if you like, I don't have anything I need to do tonight."

I'm suspicious, but I accept that it's time we sat down and talked about how long we'll both be staying here. After all, it's Rosalie's house and she probably wants to make plans for the rest of the summer, too. I sigh. I really was looking forward to having a whole uninterrupted day with Edward. On days when he works, he's usually tired when he gets home so we rarely make plans to go anywhere. A drive, dinner and a movie was what I had in mind for today – and sex, lots of sex.

"Okay, when do you want to come over? Tonight?"

"No, actually earlier in the afternoon would be better. I've had a couple of meetings canceled, so I'm taking the day off after this lunch appointment. I could be there around 3 o'clock, if that's okay?" Rose sounds a little distracted, as if she's checking her e-mails while she's talking to me, her mind already elsewhere. I roll my eyes. I should be used to being a slot in her time schedule by now.

"Yes, that's fine. As long as we know when you're coming, we'll make sure we're home by then. And, Rose," I pause, feeling a little guilty, "I don't think I've thanked you enough really, for everything you've done for me – for both of us. It's really nice of you to give up your home like this, and be willing to help us out. Thank you."

Rose makes an irritated noise into the phone. "Please, Bella, it's nothing. I'd do anything for _you_." Her subtle emphasis reminds me that she's maybe still not crazy about Edward being in my life, but willing to tolerate him as long as she thinks that he's good for me. I smile. If only she knew just _how _good he is to me. I finish the call and stand with the silent phone in my hand, looking out the window at the moving branches.

I'm distracted by a visual from last night when I'd pulled down Edward's boxers and pushed him down on the edge of the bed. When he tried to scoot up on the bed, pulling me with him, I stopped him.

"No. I want to do something for you. You're tired. Just let me take care of you, please?"

His face caught in an emotion somewhere between horny and wary, Edward allowed me to pull him back to the edge of the bed, his semi waving gently against his muscled thigh. As I sank down on the floor between his legs and started kissing my way down his happy trail, he protested weakly.

"Bella, you know you don't have to … ooohh!" My lips wrapping around his erection promptly put a stop to his protests. Soon I had the pleasure of hearing, seeing and feeling just how enthusiastic he really was about my idea. Edward was still sufficiently conscious of what was going on not to forget his manners and start thrusting into my mouth, but he had a very hard time keeping his hips under control towards the end. Forced to accept the steady but unrelenting rhythm I chose to set, he was clutching my hair and my shoulder, chanting an unintelligible string of pleas and curse words as he finally climaxed. I had set my mind on swallowing this time and had surprisingly little trouble doing it, high on the powerful feeling of having his pleasure under my control.

When I gently released him, kissing his cock lovingly goodbye, I looked up to see that there were tears in his eyes. Concerned, I asked him what was wrong. _Did I really give such terrible head?_ Edward just looked at me, cupping my cheek with his warm hand.

"I just can't believe how lucky I am to have you. Seeing you on your knees doing this for me … God, it's unbelievably sexy, but it makes me feel guilty, too. Whatever did I do to deserve you?"

I ignored his question then, but it comes back to haunt me now. What, indeed, did _I_ do to deserve _him?_

"Who was on the phone, Bella?" I whirl around, startled by Edward's voice. Fresh from the shower, he's drying his hair with a towel, and there's another wrapped around his waist.

"Oh, that was Rosalie. She's coming over this afternoon because she wants to talk to us about our plans. I guess she wants to know when she can count on having her house back."

Edward makes a face. "Yes, I know. I've been thinking about that, too. I've had three offers, but I don't know if I should take two of them seriously." He sits down on the bed, dropping the towel in his hand on the floor. Flinging his arms above his head, he stretches out on top of the comforter. His naked chest with its sprinkling of hair is as distracting as always.

"Tell me," is all I manage to say, before I sit in my armchair, a safe distance from his half-naked body. He smirks at me, as if to say, "you'll fall into my trap eventually."

"Okay, I believe I told you that Maryanne and Tony offered me a room in their apartment and 10 to 20 hours a week at the bar if I was interested in some extra work. The rent they want to charge me is nominal, so it's a good offer, but I don't know if I want to live with them. I feel like I'd get in the middle of something, you know?"

I nod. I do know what he means. With tension coming and going between Maryanne and Tony, Edward could easily become the live-in witness who's asked to declare for one or the other side of the conflict. Like a child with divorced parents, as a renter Edward would be dependent on their good will and good humor and probably end up resenting them both. That's not the best way to build a friendship or get your own space.

I had coffee with Tony earlier this week, but we talked books and nothing more personal this time. He seemed tired and had a haunted look in his eyes. I figured that if he wanted to talk to me about Edward maybe moving in with them, he would have said something, so I didn't bring it up.

"Then Amy came up with the brilliant idea that I could be their new flat-mate, since the third girl in their apartment is moving out at the end of the summer." He shudders visibly. "Not gonna go there."

I shrug. Whatever Amy's designs are on Edward, I'm sure he's mature enough to handle her. Living with her might be awkward, though, if she develops a crush on him, which in my mind seems inevitable. Frankly, I'm surprised we don't have a line of women outside the house, offering to take him in. If he'd taken my advice and put an ad up on Craig's list, the females might actually be lining up. I smile to myself.

"Then yesterday, Kate said that she has a friend who is looking for someone reliable to sublet her apartment while she goes off on a six-month trip to Asia. She offered to take me there to see it and talk to her friend on Sunday night after we close. The place isn't big, and Kate thinks it would be affordable." He lifts his head to get a better look at my face.

"If the friend decides to trust me, and if I can afford it, it might be the best shot I've had so far. Plus it's in the neighborhood, so I could keep working at the café until I find something else. Or, with extra hours at the bar, I might still make rent. Kate has offered me another raise, by the way." He smiles at me, his eyebrows wiggling wickedly. "She says she'd hate to see me go after putting so much work into training me, but I think she's become addicted to my coffee."

I snort. "Yeah, yeah, pretty boy, tell me about it. Everybody loves your 'coffee'." I make quotation marks in the air. In a flash, Edward is on his feet. In three strides he's in front of me. He lifts me, yelping, into the air without much effort, slings me unceremoniously across his shoulder before dumping me on the bed and attacking me. His towel gone, his hands quickly dive under my clothes. I giggle and squeal, ticklish and aroused while Edward growls in my ear.

"Come and put some cream in my coffee, Bella!" His long fingers find their way into my panties. Just like that my knees go weak, a spike of arousal goes right from my center to my brain and I'm exactly as creamy as he wants me to be. To hell with Rosalie and her plans for our afternoon! We're at least going to get some morning sex out of this day.

'*'*'*'*

It's after three when the doorbell rings. By then we're done with both the sex and the weekly chores.

"I'll get it!" I yell to Edward as I head for the door. I know he's out on the deck, sweeping, and might or might not hear the doorbell.

When I open the door, I'm momentarily confused. It's not Rose, whom I expected, but a man I've never seen before. I take a step back and then I glimpse Rosalie over his shoulder. Her face is closed, wary. Instantly, I feel a sick, sinking feeling in my gut. _What's going on?_

"Hello, I'm sorry to barge in on you like this, Ms. Swan. My name is Carlisle Cullen, and Ms. Hale here has led me to believe that my son, Edward, may be staying with you." I focus back on the handsome man with fair hair who is addressing me, his voice low and warm, his gaze blue and earnest.

"Mr. … Cullen?" I stutter, confused. "Your son? You mean Edward? Yes, Edward is staying here. But I don't understand, Rose, you didn't tell me …" The fair-haired man interrupts me, still courteous.

"I'm sorry, this was my idea, and probably a bad one at that. It's just … we've been looking for Edward for a long time and by now I'm not sure that he wants to be found. The risk of warning him off would mean that I wouldn't get the chance to see him, and I …" His voice falters and a shadow of strong emotion flits across his perfect features.

"I'm sorry, but that was a chance I wasn't prepared to take. It wasn't until I saw the picture of him with you that I dared to hope we were on the right track. I still can't quite believe it. I dissuaded Ms. Hale from telling you that we were coming over together. I'm very sorry if this has come as a shock to you. I understand that we owe you quite a lot for taking care of Edward when he was in a pretty desperate situation." His eyes flick over to Rosalie, who has inched closer, still looking tense, as if she wishes to disassociate herself from whatever's going on here, then he looks back at me with a pleading expression.

I shake my head slowly, my mind reeling, still unsure of what's happening and how Edward will take it.

"I did nothing more than anyone would have done. Please, Mr. Cullen, come in. I'll get Edward."

As I turn around, Edward is walking in from the living room, wiping his hands on his jeans. He stops dead in his tracks, staring over my shoulder. His face goes white, and for a moment I'm afraid that he will faint. Before I can say or do anything, Mr. Cullen brushes past me, walking quickly towards Edward with a choked sound coming out of his throat. Then, his arms are wrapped tightly around Edward, and by the movements of his shoulders I understand that Edward's father is crying. Edward's hands come up slowly and he closes his eyes, pressing his face into his father's shoulder. They are almost exactly the same height. I turn away, embarrassed to be witnessing such a private, emotional moment.

Rosalie has stepped into the hall, closing the door behind her. She touches my arm and whispers, "Bella, we need to talk."

Before she can continue, Mr. Cullen ends the embrace and turns to us, his eyes filled with tears.

"I'm terribly sorry, it's just … God, we've been worried sick." He turns back to his son. "Edward, if I wasn't so happy to see you, I would be livid. How the hell could you just leave us like that, not knowing if you were dead or alive? Your mother and Alice have been walking around like ghosts for months, torn between hope and despair. Why would you do that? Were you _trying _to hurt us? What in God's name were you thinking?" His voice rises towards the end and the anger in it is unmistakable.

I move in a daze, instinctively trying to put myself between Edward and his father. I don't know the man, and maybe Edward had good reason to get away from him, even though he hasn't indicated that he was ever abused. I put a placating hand on Mr. Cullen's arm and wave towards the living room.

"Please, this has been a shock to all of us. Why don't we all sit down for a minute. Can I get you anything to drink? Water? Coffee?"

Edward is staring at his father, frozen, as if he hasn't heard a word I said. When he speaks, his voice is small, as if he has suddenly shrunk back into his boyhood self, looking to his father for support.

"What did you say?"

Mr. Cullen stares at me, then Edward, confused. "What? No, I don't need anything to drink, thank you. What are you asking, Edward?"

"Alice. You said Alice was … like a ghost?"

Suddenly it strikes me, too. I spin around and grab Mr. Cullen's arm harder.

"Alice! Alice is alive? Are you saying she survived? I thought … we thought Alice was dead!"

Mr. Cullen looks at us both in deepening confusion. "What? No, Alice is fine. Well, it was a very close call and she has spent some time in the hospital and then in rehabilitation, but she's doing as well psychologically as can be expected, under the additional stress of having her brother pull a disappearing act on us. We …" his voice chokes off, "… there were times when we all thought … we've tried to come to terms with the possibility that Edward was dead." He wipes at his eyes with a hand that trembles slightly.

Edward is chalk white now. Suddenly he doubles over and sits down abruptly on the floor, hiding his face in his hands. Alarmed, I stare at Mr. Cullen, who immediately sits down and puts his hand on the side of Edward's throat as if checking his pulse.

"Edward? Are you all right? Please try to breathe slowly and put your head between your knees for a minute. It's probably just a drop in blood pressure." He looks up at me.

"Could you please get me a blanket? I'm worried that Edward might be going into shock."

I'm feeling cold and tingly all over and my breaths are shallow because something is blocking my lungs, but I hurry into my bedroom for a blanket. I grab the one on the back of the armchair and return quickly to the hall. Rosalie is standing with her arms crossed, watching the two men on the floor and biting her lip, as if unsure of what to do.

Mr. Cullen wraps the blanket around Edward's shoulders, which are shaking. He speaks softly, persuasively, as if to a much younger child.

"Come on, Edward, let's get you off the floor." He looks up at me briefly. "Is there somewhere he can lie down?" Nodding, I bend to take Edward's arm as his father takes the other one, and we help him to his feet. He leans against his father's shoulder as if exhausted, and allows himself to be led to the couch in the living room, where his father settles him under the blanket. Mr. Cullen sits on the armrest, clutching his son's hand, most likely making sure that Edward won't be able to disappear again.

He looks at Edward, then me. "Let me get this straight: Edward told you that Alice was dead?" I nod, as I take a seat across from the couch. Rosalie settles in the other chair. My eyes can't leave Edward's pale face and my mouth feels dry. When Edward doesn't answer, I do.

"Yes. Edward hasn't told me everything, but he said he found Alice dead in your house, that she'd killed herself. Isn't that what happened?" Mr. Cullen stares at me, and then shakes his head.

"Well, yes, Alice did try to kill herself. She slit her wrists and took an overdose of her medication. She was unconscious when the ambulance brought her in. She'd lost a lot of blood, and her heart stopped, but they were able to revive her. When we arrived, Edward was there. Alice was still hovering between life and death and naturally Esme and I were primarily concerned with her condition, so we didn't get much time to talk with him. By the time we started looking for him, Edward was gone." He looks at Edward.

"Son, where did you go? Why did you leave?"

Edward slowly shakes his head, and looks at me. "Bella, could you get me some water, please?" I immediately rise, but Rosalie waves her hand at me and disappears into the kitchen. She's back with several bottles of water before I have time to react. She hands one to Edward and one to me, placing another one on the table before taking her seat again. Edward sits up slowly, pulling one hand through his hair, before opening the bottle and drinking deeply from it. Mr. Cullen puts a hand on his shoulder.

"Carefully, son, don't drink too much at once. How are you feeling?" Edward shakes his head again.

"Don't worry, I'm fine. I feel cold and thirsty, but I'm okay." He looks up at his father's face with a haunted expression.

"I'm so sorry, Carlisle. I had no idea. No idea at all. Are you sure that Alice is really okay? It's really true?" His eyes fill with tears and two drops slide silently down his face. He stretches out his hand and grips his father's arm, hard. Carlisle sits down beside him and pulls him into his side with a one-armed hug. His voice is tender when he speaks.

"Yes, Edward, Alice is all right. Everything is all right, now. And none of what happened was your fault, you have to know that. Is that what you thought? That Alice trying to kill herself was your fault? Is that why you took off like that? God, Edward, how could you believe such a thing?" His voice is shaking with emotion, and Edward is full-out crying. I ache to put my arms around him, but I recognize that this is his father's task and that I have to give them the space they need. I look over at Rosalie, nervous and slightly overwhelmed. She stares at the floor as if she wishes she were somewhere else.

Edward's voice is muffled by crying, but I hear some of what he's saying.

"God, everything has always been my fault! Don't you see? Everything I touch turns to shit. Everyone who loves me dies – my brother, my mother and father, then Jon, then Alice. It all makes perfect, shitty sense! I'm poison! I couldn't stick around any longer, waiting to see who I would kill next. I had to get away from you all, I just had to!"

Carlisle shushes Edward, pulling him tighter into his own body. "That's not true, not any of it, and you wouldn't say such things if you weren't so upset. We love you, Edward, and you've never killed anybody. We're all fine, and we need you to come back to us. We all miss you like crazy, and Alice needs her big brother. Will you come back with me, tonight?"

I pull in a ragged breath. Tonight? Of course, Edward's family would want him back, but are they leaving tonight? I feel panicked. Will I have to say goodbye to Edward now, like this?

Carlisle looks at me, patting Edward's back. "I booked a return flight for the two of us back to Chicago tonight on the off chance that this would all work out. I can reschedule, but I know that Esme and Alice are dying to see with their own eyes that Edward is really all right. I know that it's abrupt, but if there are things we need to settle, we can come back later." He looks over at Rose. "Ms. Hale knows where to find me. We owe her so much." Rose smiles stiffly and shakes her head.

"Not at all. I only did what I could with the information I had. It was luck as much as anything that I found you as quickly as I did."

I shake my head, feeling slow, as if my brain is functioning on half speed. "There's nothing, really, I mean, Edward has a job so he needs to give notice, but I'm sure Kate wouldn't want to stop him from going home under the circumstances. I can talk to her tomorrow, unless you want to talk to her yourself, Edward. What should I say?" I'm trying to wrap my head around the possibility that I might not see Edward again for a long time. Would he come back here, when his life is in Chicago? Is that where he's going to school? Maybe we went to the same university – it's so ironic that this whole time I didn't know that.

Edward is shaking his head and wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

"I can't just pick up and leave like this, Carlisle. Of course I want to see Alice and Esme, but there's nothing waiting for me at home, and I've got a life here now." Carlisle interrupts him.

"Actually, it is kind of important that you come home as soon as possible. I've talked to your principal, and they're prepared to let you take your finals when you get home, even if you missed the last two months of school. You may not get a perfect GPA, but I'm sure you'll do well enough to secure a place at Northwestern. And here's the thing; Northwestern not only accepted you, but they were impressed enough with your academic record and your other achievements that they've been prepared to keep a slot open for you all this time, after I called them in spring and explained what had happened." His smile is shaky.

"I guess the thought of calling them again now and telling them that you weren't coming after all felt like admitting to myself that we would never see you again. The hope that you would somehow make it home by fall has been all I had to hang onto."

Edward looks devastated. "God, I've made such a mess of things, haven't I. I thought I'd never make it to college. You mean that you did all this for me, even after I left you like that?" Carlisle puts his hand on Edward's shoulder and smiles at him, and I see a world of love in his face.

"Edward, for an intelligent boy you've always been pretty dense when it comes to understanding how your family feels about you. I love you, son, and I would do anything for you. _Anything._ Now, would you please pack your things? We've got a flight to catch."

I clear my throat. "Wait, I … I guess I don't understand. I thought Edward was going to college already in Chicago. Is he being accepted into Northwestern, now?" Carlisle looks at me, eyebrows raised.

"Yes, Edward was supposed to graduate high school in Chicago this spring, but since he disappeared he missed his chance to do his finals. Fortunately, he had already been accepted by, among other colleges, Northwestern as a pre-med student on his previous grades." Carlisle's smile is proud when he looks at Edward, who is looking as sick as I'm feeling. "And I guess I must admit to pulling a few strings. Northwestern is my alma mater and we have a collaboration program at the hospital where I work in Chicago that gives pre-med students from Northwestern the opportunity to intern and learn about our research."

"Edward," I steel my voice, "how old are you?"

Edward stares at me. His eyes are huge and dark. "I'm eighteen."

Just like that, my whole world crumbles.

Rosalie steps in, taking Edward by the arm to help him find a bag for his things. She drags him off, leaving me with Carlisle. He obviously doesn't understand the significance of what I've just heard, but remarks on how sad it was to be unable to celebrate Edward's coming of age this summer, not knowing whether he was dead or alive. He seems to assume that my relationship with Edward is that of a benevolent older lady who's given support to a helpless young person. As well he should. I feel alternately hot and cold, and for a minute I wonder if I'm going to throw up. The nausea abates, and I lean back in the chair, listening to Carlisle, who is telling me about his family.

"Edward is exceptionally bright and sociable, which I'm sure you've noticed, but I'm afraid he has always lacked in self-esteem. His mother, Esme's sister, had mental problems when Edward was young. She had another son who suffered from a rare form of leukemia, and when Edward was born they were hoping that he would become a donor for his brother. They weren't matched, though, and Robert died when Edward was two or three. Elizabeth went into a state of depression." He looks kindly at me, as if he's sensing my inner turmoil, even if he doesn't comprehend the reasons behind it.

"We took Edward back to our home in Chicago, but it wasn't supposed to be a permanent solution. Unfortunately, Edward's parents were killed in a car accident some months later." Carlisle drags his hand through his hair in a mirror image of Edward, and I have to force hysterical laughter down my throat. "Elizabeth was driving, and they weren't completely sure if she'd fallen asleep at the wheel or if she was confused because she'd overdosed on her medication." I hear what he's not telling me. Suicide. It's no wonder Edward feels the way he does. Too many people with psychological problems, too many drugs and too many "accidents" in one's life would be enough to make anyone feel paranoid.

"So, then we adopted Edward as our own. He really had no one else. Alice came later, when we'd given up on the idea of having biological children." He rises from the couch and walks over to the French windows to look out at the beach below. "I'm afraid that over the years Alice has taken up too much of our time and energy. Edward's been such a good brother to her, but I don't think he realizes just how important he's always been to our family." He turns around and looks at me. "Do you have any children of your own, Ms. Swan? Ms. Hale told me that you were only here on a sabbatical."

I shake my head slowly. My skin feels too tight, and my head feels swollen, almost as if I have a fever. "No, I have no children. I was wondering about Edward's last name. It's not Masen, then, I take it?"

Carlisle shakes his head, the ghost of a smile touching his lips. "No, that was Edward's father's name. Robert Masen was a well-known attorney in New York and quite a bit older than Elizabeth. We debated whether it would be a nice gesture to let Edward retain his last name, but we finally decided that it would be better to keep us all together as a family. Alice was a foundling baby, literally turned up in a cardboard box behind a dumpster, so we know nothing of her family. In her case there was no discussion."

With a voice that feels weirdly scratchy, I manage to croak out, "How old is Alice?"

"Fourteen. It's a difficult age, and Alice is a sensitive girl. But she's been getting excellent help ever since her suicide attempt, and I'm sure that once she sees that Edward is all right, she'll be able to truly start healing." He sighs, shrugging. "She misses him terribly, you know. They've always been incredibly close for a brother and sister, in spite of the age difference." He smiles, sadly. "Sometimes, when they were younger, my wife and I used to call them our little soul mates."

Suddenly, I feel sick and I know I have to get out of here. I need fresh air and movement. I stand up, so abruptly that I feel dizzy and sway slightly. Carlisle takes a step toward me, concerned, but I wave him away.

"I'm sorry, this is really inconvenient, but I have an important appointment to keep. Rosalie has the keys to the house; she'll be able to lock up after you've finished packing Edward's things. Please let me know that everything's all right once you've arrived safely in Chicago. Remind Edward to call his employer, Kate. It's been a pleasure meeting you Dr. Cullen, and I'm so glad that Edward is reunited with his family."

Carlisle insists on saying goodbye, but now I'm in full flight mode and itching to go so I shake his hand impatiently while he thanks me for stepping in and taking care of his son when no one else would. _If only he knew. _

I only pause in the hall to step into my flip-flops and grab my purse. I call out quickly towards Edward's room, "I have to go now or I'll miss my appointment. Call me, Rose, okay? Edward, have a safe trip home! I'll talk to you later!" And I'm out of the house.

The last thing I see in the rearview mirror as I drive away from the curb at top speed is Edward's pale face as he stands on the steps of the house, his hands in his hair, not waving, not calling, just standing there staring after me.

* * *

**A/N: *hiding behind couch* Okay, I know some of you are probably planning to kill me right now, but I sincerely hope you'll get over it. I promise to answer all reviews, PM:s and questions you may have for me, as always, but I'll be incommunicado on a trip until next week, (hence the early publishing) so please have patience. Who do you blame most in this situation: Edward? Bella? Rose? Me? Update next Friday, as usual.**


	49. Chapter 49

**A/N: Disclaimer - Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. Thanks to my lovely beta, Trekgeezer for all her help and encouragement. And thanks to you, my lovely readers, for staying with me!**

* * *

_I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.  
I do not think they will sing to me._

_I have seen them riding seaward on the waves_  
_Combing the white hair of the waves blown back_  
_When the wind blows the water white and black._

_We have lingered in the chambers of the sea_  
_By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown_  
_Till human voices wake us, and we drown._

T.S. Eliot: The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock

* * *

******Chapter 49.**

_**July**_

**EPOV**

The airplane rises like a silver arrow, leaving Los Angeles below us in the dusk of the gathering evening. My ears pop. I can't swallow because my mouth is dry. It's a sign of shock. Carlisle taught me that. You feel dehydrated, you want to drink, but you shouldn't. My tongue cleaves to my pallet. It's uncomfortable.

I feel cold; that's also a sign of shock, or maybe it's just the air conditioning. I shiver, and then control my shivering.

As we clear the clouds, the setting sun shines straight through the window of the airplane, into my eyes, and I'm blinded. I blink. Light. Darkness.

I open my eyes again, and then close them. Light. Darkness. I press my eyes shut. Tears are burning on the inside of my eyelids, but I don't intend to let them fall. Light. Darkness.

The piercing light of the sun mirrors the piercing pain through my chest. It's where my heart would be if I still had a heart. It burns me. Light. Darkness. The light turns red, like blood. Sun shining above gathering night. Midnight sun.

I try to swallow with my dry mouth. I clench my hands into fists on the armrest. Carlisle is leaning back in his seat beside me, his eyes closed. I turn my face to the window and close my eyes, too. Light. Darkness. I wish the darkness could swallow me up, forever.

*'*'*'*'*'*

We reach Chicago late at night and take a cab from the airport. The air is humid and hot, like a black, wet blanket thrown over my face, as we exit the doors of the airport. I feel suffocated, like I can't breathe. I tell myself to relax. It's over now. It's all over.

The ride home from O'Hare seems interminable. My body aches. It must be phantom pains. I'm feeling the ghosts of my limbs, the loss of something that's not there anymore. Bella's touch. I've lost it. I ache for it. Orange street lights streak across the cab window, across my face, like a slap that's repeated again and again, until you don't feel it anymore. Slap. Slap. Slap.

When we finally reach the house, the lights are still on downstairs. Carlisle pays the driver, takes our bags and lets us in without ringing the bell. I should carry my own bag, but my shoulders and arms feel stiff, and I don't think I have the power to close my hands anymore. Entering the familiar hall, my insides feel like water. I see the stairs disappearing into the darkness of the second floor. Memories come trickling back, like acid, hissing on contact. I'm under water, drowning. There's water in my eyes. I blink it away. I'm home. It's over. She's gone.

* * *

_**August**_

**BPOV**

The cab is flying through the darkness, grey dawn creeping across the horizon. The eerie green light of the neon pillars outside LAX airport remind me of Stonehenge; a monument to something that has fallen out of mankind's memory. My weary eyes are blurred for a moment when I think of leaving this country behind. I blink the blur away. It's much better to think of it as a fresh start, a chance to connect with new people and new ideas. Forget the past.

The last few days I've been numb. I've plowed through all the final things that needed to be done before leaving for England, while determinedly keeping my thoughts and feelings away from the glaring hole in my middle, which is threatening to suck all light out of life. I'm not going to let myself be devastated again by losing a man. A man who wasn't a man, but a boy – a beautiful, hurting, lying boy.

After leaving the house that dreadful afternoon, I drove north, without any clear idea of where I was going, my cell phone turned off on the seat beside me. Hours later, at sunset, I found myself at one of the vista points on Highway 1, the same place where I'd stood with Edward just weeks before. The surf was crashing against black cliffs below me, and the red light from the sunset colored my clothes and my car and made them look drenched in blood.

I let the tears come then, sobbing, first quietly then uncontrollably, deep hacking breaths shuddering through me. The waves cut out all other sounds, and I let myself wail, screaming my anger, frustration and grief to the ocean. _Why is this happening to me? God, how can you let me believe I have found someone to love, only to have it twisted around and thrown in my face like garbage?_ Darkness fell as I cried myself out, finally sinking to my knees on the rough grass and gravel, too tired to think clearly, raw with emotion.

My head was hurting and I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. My thoughts went round and round. Why would he lie to me? How many of the stories he told me were true? Did he love me, or was that a lie, too? Was he an emotionally disturbed kid who didn't know what he was doing? Would his father begin to understand what I had done to his underage son? What would he do to me if he knew? Was he disgusted with me? Was Rosalie disgusted with me?

For a moment I contemplated climbing out onto the ledge and jumping. Disappearing into the roaring water, being pulled under and beaten unconscious against the cliffs seemed like a tempting option. It would mean never having to go back, never facing Rosalie or Carlisle or anyone again; but it would also mean never seeing Edward again.

Eventually, I climbed back in the car, thoroughly windblown, feeling as if the sound of the wind and the sea had scoured everything from my mind. I looked at my phone, resting my head on the seat rest, numb from exhaustion. Finally, I picked it up and turned it on. Nineteen missed calls. Five messages. Most of the calls came from Rose, a few from Edward. I scrolled down to the last message from Rose and listened to her disembodied voice as I stared out through the windshield at the darkness.

"Bella, I know you're probably very upset right now, but just call me. We don't have to talk or do anything, but just call me. I need to know that you're all right. Okay? I'm here for you, never forget that. We can do this. Call me." Her voice was calm, but the panic underneath was perceptible when you know her as well as I do. I didn't want to talk to anyone, but I couldn't let her worry any longer. With finger_s_ that felt like lead, I pushed the CALL button and waited while it connected. She picked up on the first ring.

"Oh my God, Bella, where are you? Just tell me where you are right now."

I closed my eyes, and tried to breathe through my stuffy nose. My voice was raspy when I tried to speak. "I'm not sure. I've been driving north on Highway 1. I'm parked at a vista point. I think it's near San Luis Obispo. It's dark."

"Okay, I'm coming to get you. Stay right where you are, lock the car, and keep your phone turned on. I'll probably be able to find you, but I may need some help, so keep the phone near you. Do you have battery?"

I squinted at the symbols in the dark. "Yes, I should be good until tomorrow morning at least," I replied.

I heard sounds of traffic in the background, voices, and then the slamming of a car door and a motor revving.

"Did you lock the car doors, Bella?" Rose asked again, and I thought I should probably tell her not to talk on the phone while she's driving, but I was too tired to argue. I locked the doors, and hearing the hollow sound of the locks sliding home somehow reminded me of Juliet's tomb. Here I was, locked in the tomb of my car, safe from the storms of destiny. Only, unlike Juliet, there wouldn't be any nocturnal visitor coming to save me from my own death. I whispered into the phone, "Rose, why did he do it?"

There was a beat of silence, and then Rose replied quietly, "I don't know, Bella, but I'm coming to get you now, and I promise you it's going to be okay, eventually; not tomorrow, not next week, but it's going to be okay. Now, try not to think too much, just rest until I get there. You're in no state to drive. Just wait for me, okay?" There was a pleading note in her voice, and I wondered if she read my mind, if she knew how tempting that cliff looked to me only half an hour ago.

I nodded my head, then remembered myself and told her "Yes. I'll wait. I promise. I think I'll try to sleep a little." My eyes were swollen from crying and I was so very tired.

"You do that, Bella, but keep the phone on, okay? I'll call you when we get closer." Rose hesitated before ending the call, and I pressed the END button and let the phone slide into my lap as my eyes closed.

Later that night, I was awakened from a headache-inducing nap by the phone, and twenty minutes later Rose and Emmett arrived in Emmett's huge truck. Rose scrambled out of the vehicle, rapped on the window and pulled the door of the Volvo open. She hugged me tightly, there in the backseat, for the longest time, neither of us speaking. Finally, I whispered, "Are they gone?" Rosalie nodded against my cheek, a whiff of her perfume enveloping me in a strange sense of familiarity.

"Can you take me to your apartment? I don't want to sleep in the beach house tonight." Another nod, then Rosalie quietly, competently, strapped me into my seat belt and climbed out of the car to talk to Emmett.

She ended up driving my Volvo, with Emmett following protectively behind. I dozed off again, and only woke up when Rosalie shook my shoulder and led me from the car to the elevator for her penthouse. Going to sleep between cool sheets in her guest room felt like being a kid again, back in my room in Charlie's house with the sound of the TV somewhere in the background, a soothing murmur rocking my tired mind to sleep. I've been unusually tired ever since then. Even now, I've had a hard time keeping my eyes open, although travelling usually makes me nervous and excited.

When we get to the airport, I pay the driver and roll my bags towards the entrance. My face feels stiff as if the muscles that normal people use to express emotion have atrophied. I don't know if they'll recognize the photo in my passport at customs. I must have aged ten years in the past four weeks.

I haven't been in touch with Edward since he left. I asked Rosalie to handle all contacts with the family, and she did. I stayed at her apartment in the city, only returning to the beach house to clear my things, deciding what to bring with me and what to leave in storage. I bought a new cell phone, even though I haven't thrown the other one out. I just decided to stop using it after the first few days when I got tired of screening my calls and erasing Edward's messages. I'm starting fresh and cutting off all contacts with the past. Only the handful of people who need to be in contact with me have my new, unlisted phone number.

Two bags and my computer, this is all I need. I have decided that if everything works out, I plan to stay for spring semester, too. I need the time to start over. Knowing that I'm no longer on the same continent with Edward will have to count for something. I'm hoping that work and the new environment will distract me. I'm sure he'll find his distractions, too, with starting college, making new friends and dating new girlfriends.

As I hand over my ticket and passport to the woman at the checkpoint and strip off my watch and keys for security, I look at the leather band with the little abalone heart still wrapped tightly around my wrist. It's become a part of me, something I can't bear to get rid of. I tell myself that I keep it as a cautionary reminder, to make sure that I never make the same mistakes again. If my heart was made of abalone, this would never have happened. If I were a mermaid, I could swim away with a flip of my tail and put this all behind me as easily as the whole continental U.S.A.

I sit down at the gate for the flight to Newark and immediately lower my head into a book, avoiding all eye contact. I am a mermaid. The trick is to keep swimming, to keep your head under water, not listen to the siren call of human voices or beautiful boys luring you out of your element. I'm not going to drown. I'm not going to try growing legs again. I'm going to keep on swimming. I'm leaving. It's over. He's gone.

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_**September **_

* * *

_**October **_

* * *

_**November**_.

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**A/N: Okay, so I know this is an unusually short chapter, but originally, I'd just planned to give you the names of the months and nothing more, as a tribute to Stephenie Meyer - and then, I'm sure you would REALLY have killed me.**

**I'm truly relieved that you haven't been angry at me for pulling the plug without warning like that, and I promise to bring us all ashore - but it will be a little bumpy for a while. Hope that you will think it's worth your time! Please PM me or review if you have questions and concerns!**


	50. Chapter 50

**A/N: Disclaimer - Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. Thanks to my awesome beta, Trekgeezer, I am avoiding most of my mistakes, but I take full credit for the rest of them. Thank you to every reader!**

* * *

_Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,_

_The dear repose for limbs with travel tired;_

_But then begins a journey in my head,_

_To work my mind, when body's work's expired:_

_For then my thoughts, from far where I abide,_

_Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,_

_And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,_

_Looking on darkness which the blind do see:_

_Save that my soul's imaginary sight_

_Presents thy shadow to my sightless view,_

_Which like a jewel hung in ghastly night,_

_Makes black night beauteous and her old face new._

_Lo, thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind,_

_For thee and for myself no quiet find._

William Shakespeare: Sonnet no 27

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**Chapter 50.**

_**November**_

**EPOV**

I wake up early, almost before first light, and lie on my back staring up at the ceiling. I watch as the greyness seeps in across the dull white ceiling, while listening to the snores of my roommate, Ben. It's November. I feel like I'm finally coming up for air. I went home for a weekend at Halloween, and it was almost normal.

Ever since I returned to my family this summer, I've been feeling raw and defensive around them. I know I hurt them, not just by everything I did before I left, but by taking off without an explanation. We've talked, and Carlisle and Esme have been good about everything. They've been very restrained, offering no recriminations. They just told me how they felt and why they hope I won't do anything like that to them ever again. I have tried to explain why I did what I did, but I'm not sure they can ever understand my deep feeling of self-revulsion and the desperation that drove me away

Another thing I can't explain to them is Bella. I can't tell them how I really feel about her or what she means to me. To them, she's just this kind woman who befriended me and took me in, a surrogate mother of sorts. It makes me feel sick that I can't make them see her like I do: a beautiful, sensitive, intelligent woman, capable of so much selfless love, and with a passion that knows no bounds. She healed me; and I betrayed her.

Before I left Los Angeles with Carlisle, Rosalie pulled me aside in my room and hissed at me.

"You bastard! Don't you dare tell anyone you've been fucking Bella! That could ruin her forever. You were underage, Edward, and you knew it. What do you think that makes _her_?"

I feel cold all over again as I think back to that day when my two worlds collided and everything crashed around me. Suddenly seeing Carlisle again, learning about Alice and then, Bella's face when she found out who I really was and how I'd been lying to her from the start. She was white as a sheet, completely still, her beautiful eyes almost black.

I don't know what was worse, the fact that I'd lied to her, or the truth about my age. To me it didn't seem to make much difference. Age is just a number. The gap between me and Bella wouldn't change much whether I was 18 or 25, but I can see now that it might matter to her.

I have no idea how the State of California would view a relationship between a forty-year-old woman and a seventeen-year-old boy. Would she be accused of statutory rape, even though I was a willing participant? Even if she weren't convicted, would it go on her record as a teacher? Could she lose her job? I realize now that all the dangers and all the consequences of my lies would have fallen on Bella, and I didn't give her a choice in the matter.

I wasn't myself at that moment. I felt like a marionette being manipulated by someone else. Carlisle just picked me up and whisked me away. At first he talked to me endlessly, tried to get me to tell him about what I'd done, where I'd been, if I'd been hurt or sick or assaulted while I was on the run. He wanted to run a medical check-up on me as soon as we came home, even though I told him I was fine and that I'd been living in luxury for the past six weeks with Bella.

While we waited for our flight back to Chicago Carlisle told me again and again that there was still time to save my grades, that I must work hard to show I deserved the chance, and how lucky I was that Northwestern was holding a place for me, pending my results. Part of me couldn't bring myself to care, while part of me knew that I had to. I felt like I was in a traffic accident with my body parts strewn across the road, while the medics calmly scooped me up piece by piece, trying to put me back together.

Through those remaining weeks of summer, I was a walking zombie. My body and heart felt like lead, while my mind spun like a ferris wheel out of control; up and down, round and round. I threw myself into my studies, since it seemed like the only way to make up for disappointing Carlisle and Esme. They had worked so hard to save me from the consequences of my own actions that I couldn't just flaunt the offered chance to get back on track again. I sat in my old room in the house I grew up in, burning through books, crunching numbers, remembering where I'd left off in March and preparing to show Northwestern that I was worth the chance they were taking on me.

I tried calling Bella the first couple of weeks, but when she didn't give me any sign that she wanted to talk to me, I gave up. I thought maybe she was afraid to be associated with me; afraid that there would be a public scandal if my family found out about us. Maybe I was hurting her just by trying to contact her again. All I wanted was to apologize and to assure her that I would never tell anyone about us, but I realized that I was too late. I resigned myself to lying low, trying to forget her. Impossible as that might seem.

Talking to Kate was easy, in comparison. She was very understanding, though resigned to the fact that I had messed up her summer schedule again. Kate seemed genuinely happy that I had finally decided to reconnect with my family. She generously offered to forward my last salary to me, but I told her to give it to Amy's women's shelter, instead, and to tell everyone goodbye for me. I called Maryanne, too, just to let her know that I had left the west coast and wouldn't be coming back anytime soon. She seemed to hear what I wasn't saying and asked very few questions, except the big one: "What about Bella?"

I hesitated. "Um, I don't know, Maryanne. She's probably leaving L.A. soon, too, so I guess we won't be seeing each other anymore." Then, a sudden wild surge of hope made me say, "But if you see her, please tell her that I miss her."

Maryanne paused, then asked, "So you guys aren't talking?"

There was nothing to say to that, so I just sighed. "No, not really. Listen, forget I asked. Say goodbye to Tony for me, will you? I really loved playing in your bar. I'll miss that."

Maryanne's voice was terse when she replied, "We'll miss you, too, Edward. Take care of yourself." As I hung up, once again I had the uncanny feeling that I was saying goodbye to an older version of Alice, someone I shouldn't let go of so easily if I cared about my sister's future.

Alice … oh, it was probably most difficult with Alice. When I came home that night in July, she was waiting in the living room, curled up on the couch. She looked so much smaller than I remembered, dressed in sweats that were way too big for her. My old track sweats, I realized suddenly. Her dark hair was shorter than it used to be, and lay limply against her head instead of standing up in spikes. Her face was narrow and pale, her eyes huge. She walked towards me slowly, and then stopped at the other end of the room. We just stood there for the longest time, watching each other. I didn't know if I should go to her. There was so much I wanted to say but I didn't know how to say it.

Then, suddenly, she started running towards me, and jumped on me, wrapping her arms and legs around me like she did when she was a kid. She was bigger now, but still weighed nothing. I clutched her small, wiry frame to my chest as she sobbed. The only words I could make out were, "I love you, Edward, I love you. I'm sorry. I love you." So that's the only thing I could think of to say, too. "I love you, Alice. I'm sorry."

I fell asleep on the couch, with Alice on my lap, curled up against me under a blanket. Esme sat beside us, stroking my hair and Alice's hair with her soft, cool, motherly hands. Later, it was Esme who helped me stumble tiredly to my old room, while Carlisle carried Alice to hers. I rolled into bed as Esme closed the blinds and turned out the lights. She bent down to kiss the top of my head and whispered, "Good night, Edward. Welcome home." I felt a twinge in my chest at the words, because home wasn't here anymore. Home was on the other side of the country, where I could wake up to the sound of waves and the soft breaths of Bella, glued to my side in her sleep. I still feel the pang of missing her every evening when I go to sleep and every morning when I wake up in my bunk bed, listening to the noises of the dorm.

I sigh, roll out of bed and gather my things for the shower. I might just as well use the bathroom before everyone else gets up. The hallway is quiet and looks cold in the electrical light. Faint sounds of music or TV shows seep through some of the doors where freshmen have gone to sleep trying to pretend they're still safe at home. I think that my roommate misses his family, but he would never admit it out loud. He's on the phone a lot more than I thought was normal for a guy. Though I never had very many guy friends, so what do I know about what's normal, really?

When it was clear that I had been accepted at Northwestern, Carlisle wanted me to continue living with them, off-campus, so they could make sure that I was all right and was managing the transition. I talked him out of it, though. I told him that since I'd been able to survive for months on my own, holding a job, there was no reason I couldn't live with my fellow students in a dorm. Besides, I would have been commuting back and forth every day, or driving and paying for gas. All that wasted time and expense didn't make sense when I could live on campus.

The condition they posed was that I start seeing a counselor on a regular basis, just as Alice does, to work on my personal "issues." I've been seeing Chelsea McKinnon on campus every few weeks since I started the semester. She's relatively young for a counselor and pretty cool. I try to speak the truth to her, because I get that that's the whole point of therapy. I've just kept quiet about one thing, who Bella really was, but not that I loved her and still miss her. Chelsea has so far been keeping the focus on my family situation, trying to make me talk about things I haven't talked about before. I'm starting to get why Bella seemed to feel ambivalent about therapy. Sitting on your ass and talking has never been such hard work.

On my return I found that my family had already made a lot of changes in their lives after Alice attempted suicide: Carlisle no longer worked shifts all hours at the hospital every week in addition to his private practice. Esme cut down on her responsibilities with her firm and started working more from home, leaving the office earlier to either pick Alice up or be around when she came home from school. Our home was never empty anymore, there was always someone there; but it was mostly quiet. I guess we had all been changed by what happened. Whenever Alice came into my room to lie on the bed while I studied and listened to music, I was painfully reminded of the fact that I was partly to blame for this feeling of brokenness. She just lay there, not speaking, watching me as if she couldn't believe I was back unless I was right under her dark gaze.

My visit home on Halloween weekend was peaceful. A real sense of gratitude filled me as soon as I walked in, saw Alice's happy smile and felt Esme hugging me hard. Carlisle beamed at me and ruffled my hair.

That first night home, I had gone to bed but couldn't sleep. My stomach was too full, my mind was spinning thinking about Bella, about school, and England, and whether or not pre-med was what I really wanted to do. My door opened a crack and Alice slipped inside.

"Edward?"

I was immediately alert; scared that maybe she was having another breakdown, but determined that I would help her this time. "What's wrong, Alice?" I said in a low voice, so we wouldn't wake our parents sleeping down the hall – if anyone ever slept in this house,anymore.

She tiptoed across the floor and quietly slipped into bed with me, curling up on her side near the edge, keeping her distance, as if she didn't want me to freak out.

"Nothing's wrong. I just had another dream about Jasper, and I couldn't shake the feeling."

I hesitated. Jasper was – perhaps – the reason my baby sister had attempted suicide; at least that's what she was sobbing about when she came home with me that night, having crashed a party she was much too young to attend. Jasper was my age, a handsome, blonde guy with a slow smile and a great build who was the star of our school's basketball team. Of course he wouldn't go for a tiny goth chick four years his junior. He'd _better_ not, or I'd rip him a new pair. According to Alice, she'd told him she loved him that night, and he'd laughed in her face. After this, I'd brought her home crying. First I shouted at her, then laughed at her, calling her immature and ridiculous. I'd been an insensitive asshole. Then she'd shut herself in the bathroom, taken pills and tried to slice her wrists in a hot bath; a textbook suicide. Only she was too high and too emotional to do a very good job of it. Luckily she was still alive when I found her later, bathing in her own – very diluted – blood. So, _that_ was the Jasper she was still dreaming about?

"Do you want to tell me about it?" I tentatively touched her hair, feathery like a baby's, smoothing it down, moving it out of her sleep-smudged eyes. She nodded, making a soft sound against the pillow.

"We were dancing, at prom, and he held me and told me I was beautiful. Then everything changed, and he walked away from me. I ran after him and took his hand and I told him, 'I've been waiting for you all my life. I can't let you go now.' Then he just smiled this distant smile at me and said, 'Sorry, but you'll have to wait a little longer'."

I stayed quiet for a while, our breaths the only sound in the dark room. Finally, I said, "Maybe that's not such a bad idea, you know? You're barely fifteen, and he's graduated high school. It would be kind of creepy if you were to date a college guy." I heard a muffled sob, and realized that Alice was crying.

"Hey!" I scooted closer and cupped her head with my palm, her hair silky under my fingers, and wiped at her tears with my thumb. "Don't cry, Alice. No guy is worth it. Don't be sad; you will find the perfect guy one day, it just might take a bit longer." She shook her head, and drew a raspy breath.

"No, I'm ugly and weird. No normal guy will ever love me, Edward. It's hopeless, I know it is, but I just can't help loving Jasper. He _is_ the perfect guy for me, he just doesn't feel the same way. Don't you tell me that I don't know my mind because I'm too young! I love Jasper, and it's not something I'll grow out of." She cried harder, and I held her closer, shushing her, even though I was pretty sure her sobs were too quiet to rouse Esme and Carlisle.

"So, do you still think about him? Did you guys ever talk to each other in school or anything?" I was feeling protective of Alice, wondering if this guy ever did anything to mock Alice or lead her on.

She sniveled, and wiped her nose with the back of her hand, then leaned back to lie on the pillow away from me, staring up into the dark. "I stayed away from school for a long time. I don't know how much they've told you, but I was in pretty bad shape. I was in the hospital for a week or so, then in a sort of nursing home where I had counseling every day for a while." She sighed.

"I only got back to school towards the end of the semester for tests and stuff. I kept to myself a lot of the time. People mostly avoided me. Esme drove me to school and picked me up as soon as my classes were over. Jasper really went out of his way to be nice to me. He said "hi" whenever we saw each other. He talked to me in the hallways and even walked with me sometimes. He always had this look of concern, though, you know, like Mom gets all the time. Like I might bite, or scream or start crying any moment."

I reached out and turned on the bedside lamp so I could see her better. Alice's face looked small and crumpled like a squashed handkerchief. She stared into the shadowed ceiling with red-rimmed eyes.

"Did you talk to him outside of school?" I tensed, waiting for her answer. She shook her head.

"No, never. Last time I saw him was at graduation in June. I was sort of grounded all summer. Still am, I think. Whatever. I never go anywhere anymore, anyway." She turned to me and held out her hand, squeezing my fingers hard.

"I missed you, Edward. You're the only person I know who doesn't treat me like I'm a crazy girl they need to worry about or stay away from." I shook my head in reply.

"No one in this house looks at you that way, Alice. We all love you. We just want you to feel better about yourself. Is the new medication working, do you think?" This was the kind of thing Alice didn't want to talk about, normally. She curled on her side in a fetal position and pulled her lanky bangs down in front of her face.

"I don't know," she whispered. "I think so. I feel calmer, I think, but I'm still sad."

I sighed and patted her head the way I had since she was a toddler. "I feel sad, too, Alice. Sometimes that's just the way life makes you feel. It will get better, I promise. You won't be sad for the rest of your life. No one is."

Alice drew a shuddering breath. "I'm glad you're not telling me that I'm young and that this should be the best years of my life. If this is the best I'm going to get, I'm not sure I want to stick around and see what comes later."

I frowned. "Don't talk like that, Alice." I hesitated. "No, what I mean is, I wish you wouldn't feel like that, but if you do I want you to know you can talk to me about it. You're not smoking pot anymore, are you? That shit can mess with your brain, you know."

She made a face. "I only did it a few times to make you think I was cool. It made me feel sick; and I don't hang with those people anymore. It's not like I have my own drug dealer or anything. I was just in on other people's bongs." She started chewing on her already short nails, and suddenly I was reminded of Maryanne. I wonder whose bed she lay curled in talking on the nights when her life seemed like shit.

I pushed Alice's hair out of her face so I could see her better. "You know I love you, Alice. Carlisle and Esme do, too. It's not because we have to love you, but because you make us want to love you. You can't kill yourself, not ever, because if you do, I'll die, too. I almost did die, thinking you had killed yourself."

Her blue eyes were dark when she looked at me and blinked, as if they were itchy and sore.

"I thought _you _had died Edward. It was terrible, really, truly awful. I've never felt so alone in my whole life." I smiled at her then, a warped smile, more like a grimace than a smile.

"Well, then you know. Don't do it to me, and I won't do it to you."

Alice pointed to the bedside light. "Could you turn that out, please? I think I could sleep a little, now. Can I sleep here on your bed, Edward?"

I rolled over and turned out the light, then pulled the comforter from the bottom of the bed up around her. "Sure. Just don't thrash around a lot, okay? I have a hard enough time sleeping as it is without the interruptions."

"Sorry." Alice's voice sounded small, and I patted her arm in the sudden darkness.

"No, it's okay. It's not your fault. I'm glad you're still speaking to me. Good night, Alice."

"Good night, Edward."

After a while of quiet breathing, I felt my mind numbing with approaching sleep. Just as I started to drift off, I heard Alice's sleepy voice from the other pillow.

"Were you lonely the whole time you were away, Edward?" I didn't have to be wide awake to answer that.

"No. At first I was. But then I found people and I wasn't anymore."

Alice was quiet for a few breaths, and I was sinking deeper, seeing flashes of pictures under my eyelids.

"Do you miss them?"

My reply was a sigh in the darkness, signaling the end of the conversation.

"Yes." _God, yes._

As I wash my hair under the stubbornly cool spray of the shower, g I think of the day ahead of me. Pre-med is taking a lot out of me, but I'm good at what I do. It's more work than high school, but then I've always liked a challenge. My study group is okay: Ben, Eric, and a quiet girl, Angela, who I think is hitting on Ben, even though he's not noticing her. I stick with them mostly because it gives me cover enough not to have to make any other friends. I steer clear of the party people in my dorm and the pretty girls on campus trying to hit on me. I don't want a bunch of new people in my life right now. I'm still too busy living with the ones in my head.

I towel off then stare at myself in the mirror while I shave. I've come to a decision. I'm going to have to talk to Bella. I've suspected for a long time now that she changed her number. Maybe she lost her phone. Maybe she lost my number. No, I have to face facts: she probably doesn't _want _to talk to me. I've felt guilty enough to respect that; or I've tried to respect it. I'm hoping that eventually she'll change her mind and call, if only to let me know what she thinks of me. Even if I only got to listen to her shouting at me over the phone, it would be totally worth it just to hear her voice.

Now I'm done with respecting her space and waiting. From now on, I'm going to try _everything _to get in touch with her. I want to talk to her just one time, to know if she's okay and to ask her to forgive me. I need to explain myself to her, that's all. Oh, who am I kidding? Once I hear her voice I'll probably start crying and beg her to take me back! I now know that I need this thing we've been talking about in my written communication class – closure - and she's the only one who can give this to me.

Heading back to my room, I hear people starting to stir, morning news reports going on and doors slamming. I walk with a spring in my step for the first time in months. I'm a man with a purpose, and that purpose is Bella Swan. I clench my jaw as I realize that pre-med is probably going to look like a cake-walk compared to the task at hand.

* * *

_**November**_

**BPOV**

_The looking glass so shiny and new  
How quickly the glamour fades  
I start spinning slipping out of time  
Was that the wrong pill to take (Raise it up)_

_You made a deal and now it seems you have to offer up  
But will it ever be enough  
(Raise it up raise it up)  
It´s not enough  
(Raise it up raise it up)_

_Here I am, a rabbit hearted girl_  
_Frozen in the headlights_  
_It seems I´ve made the final sacrifice_

_We raise it up this offering_  
_We raise it up_

_This is a gift, it comes with a price_  
_Who is the lamb and who is the knife_  
_When Midas is king and he holds me so tight_  
_And turns me to gold in the sunlight_  
Florence and the Machine: Rabbit Heart/Raise it up

* * *

As I walk out the door and onto the steps of the British Library, the slow drizzle intensifies. I raise my umbrella and button my winter coat up under my chin, sighing as I cross the yard. I love London, and it's still surreal every morning when I walk into the British Library – the British Library, people! – to find my table and sit down with my laptop and my books. I'm thrilled to be here doing research that I love. Yet, November's darkness and rain are really getting to me. Try as I might to bury myself in work, I can't manage to block everything else out. Some days I see no color or light in the world. Sometimes my heart just plummets in my chest, and I feel my throat close around a soundless sob. I feel so alone.

I've said goodbye to my friends in the U.S. and I haven't really tried to make any new friends here. I still e-mail Rose regularly. I get in touch with colleagues when I need to ask a question or check in on what's going on back at Berkeley. I also call Charlie and Renee from time to time, but that's it.

When I unpacked my stuff on arrival, I felt a jolt when I found Tony's book among my few paperbacks. I didn't see him before I left the beach house for good; I just talked to him on the phone to let him know that I was leaving. He didn't mention Edward, so I assumed Edward had already been in touch with Maryanne or Tony to let them know what was going on. It felt awkward, and I'd already decided that it would be better to erase all traces of my relationship with Edward. I was prepared to let go of my budding friendship with Tony if that was part of the price I had to pay for my peace of mind.

My stupid good-girl personality wouldn't allow me to keep a borrowed book, so in September I mailed it to him, courtesy of the bar address. To my surprise, I got a reply in the form of a postcard with a picture of Venice beach and a scrawled greeting. "Miss talking to you. Wish you were here, but I hope London is agreeing with you. Still have to teach you to surf sometime. Tony." The postcard made me smile and almost regret my decision not to keep in touch. Almost.

I square my shoulders, and walk through the late afternoon crowds towards the Tube station, weaving dexterously with my umbrella, avoiding actually poking other people's eyes out or putting my own in danger. I love riding on the Tube. London's public transportation is a joy. It's reasonably cheap, reasonably efficient and distracting because of the opportunity it affords to people watch. I love it, even though it takes me awhile to cut across the City to Earl's Court where I live.

I'm sharing a small apartment with another woman who's doing research in London this semester. Her name is Siobhan.

Siobhan is about my age. She's big and beautiful, with long, wavy golden hair, colorful clothes and the warmest smile I've ever seen. The woman is like a walking hug, enveloping everyone she meets in her warm, interested gaze and honey-colored voice with a faint Irish lilt that makes everything she says sound so … likeable. She is specializing in eighteenth century poets, which is not my field, but it's a joy to speak with her, nevertheless. She is well-read, intelligent and opinionated on most subjects connected with English literature. She is good at making those kinds of thought leaps that make for interesting research, connecting dots that seemed too far away from each other to make sense, and painting in colors no one has thought about combining before. I like her.

When I arrive at Earl's Court station I still have a way to walk. The house where I live is tall and narrow, formerly a residence of some well-to-do family that was later turned into quirky apartments. We live on the second floor, in an unusual setup where we each have a big bedsit, a combined living room and bedroom, connected through a small kitchen with a window overlooking the backyard. There's a big bathroom in the hallway, which we share. It's about the size of my old bedroom back in Forks, Washington. There's a bathtub, which rests on iron lion paws, that I wish I could pack up and bring back home with me.

Siobhan and I have about the same hours, leaving around eight o'clock in the morning and coming home around six or seven at night. We have evolved this sign language, where if we leave our door open it means we're okay with talking, and if we close the door, we want to be left alone. Siobhan sometimes has friends of both sexes coming home with her for a glass of wine or a cup of tea, and then there's music playing, laughter and voices. She's told me that I have a standing invitation, but I tend to keep away all the same. I like Siobhan, but I still don't feel comfortable around crowds or strangers, especially crowds of strangers.

It's Friday night, and Siobhan is cooking something in the kitchen while sipping a glass of red wine when I walk in. She smiles at me and gestures to the table. "Come, take a load off when you've dropped your things. It's Friday, so I'm cooking Italian. Do you want something to eat? There's plenty here."

I smile politely. "No, it's fine, I picked something up on the way." I did eat an apple and some nuts on the Tube. Maybe I'll have a banana and some tea later. I haven't found a place where I'm comfortable running since I came here, so I've switched to going to a gym three or four times a week. This isn't as satisfying, but will have to do.

I drop off my bags and hang up my coat, leaving my shoes and umbrella to dry on a newspaper by the door. I sit for a while in the bathroom after using the toilet, my head leaning heavily in my hands, my long, loose hair hanging down almost to the floor. I am tired, but more than that I am just plain dejected tonight. There's this hole in my head where all the thoughts are draining out and this swirling void in my chest where my heart used to be. I don't remember why I came here. I don't remember who I am. I wish I didn't have to feel anything anymore. Siobhan's knock on the door pulls me back to the here and now.

"I'm going to have dinner now, love. Why don't you come keep me company and share a glass of wine, if you don't have other plans?" I sigh, and reply with the cheeriest voice I can manage

"Sure, I'll be right out!"

When I wash my hands, I happen to look in the mirror above the bathroom sink. There I see a middle-aged woman with dark brown hair with hints of grey, pale skin and dark eyes with circles under them. My tired wrinkles are even more pronounced than usual. I knit my brow and look away. I look awful, as usual, but I don't want to be reminded of that. Suddenly, I just want to lose myself, forget about everything. I walk into the kitchen and pull out a plate from the cupboard above the stove.

"If you don't mind me changing my mind, I would love to share some of that." Siobhan welcomes me and has already given me one of her wineglasses; it's big and generously curved like herself. I eat some of the pasta with mushrooms, spinach and garlic, along with generous helpings of salad, and then I help her finish off the bottle of wine. When it turns out that Siobhan is meeting friends at a pub, I help her straighten up the kitchen, and then pull a brush through my hair, change into a new pair of jeans and a top, quickly brush my teeth and head out with her. I am determined to not think about anything depressing tonight.

It works pretty well. Her friends are people from other parts of the world like us who are in London to work. There's an Australian named Peter, who reminds me of an actor whose name I've forgotten. Also, there are two girls from South America, Alba and Rosa, who speak English with a charming lisp, and a tall dark guy named Jacob who turns out to be Native American. They talk a lot, laugh a lot and crack jokes that I find funny. Before I know it, I am smiling and joking, and they laugh at my jokes, even though usually no one gets me. Jacob buys me another glass of wine and my head is kind of swimming, but in a good way. Everything is loud, and golden, and I am floating above everything, happily drawn apart from my ordinary life. There is music and dancing in another part of the place. Jacob pulls me with him, in a gentle but determined way, even though I keep protesting that I really, really don't dance.

But tonight I do. Jacob is tall, broad-shouldered but still surprisingly smooth in his movements. He has big warm hands that keep me firmly anchored whenever I feel as if I am reeling or toppling over. I'm pulled into his warm, hard body and I automatically breathe in his smell, which is woodsy and smoky and fresh like cool night air. I let myself relax and lean into him, and he holds me gently, reverently, in a way that reminds me of someone else … but since I am not thinking tonight, I refuse to remember who. So we dance until I feel too tired to move. When we go back to the others, I drink some more wine and lean my head on Siobhan's shoulder. I feel like a child falling asleep on someone's lap while the grownups are talking above my head. Then we are getting in the back of a cab, and I am really falling asleep; and then I don't remember anything.

Then I wake up and it's morning. I am lying in my bed with the covers wrapped around me. I'm still in my clothes, which feels unfamiliar and uncomfortable. My head hurts, my mouth feels sticky and the light hurts my eyes because I forgot to close the curtains last night. When I sit up I realize that an unfamiliar blazer is hanging off the back of my work chair, and there's a pillow and a blanket on the soft rug by the window. The smell of coffee and something frying is coming from the kitchen. I stumble out of bed and visit the bathroom. A quick shower, a toothbrush and a lot of cold water with a Tylenol later, I am standing in the kitchen drying my hair on a towel. I'm wrapped in my comfortable terrycloth robe that is too big for me. Jacob is standing at the stove frying tomatoes, the oregano smells are delicious and causes my stomach to rumble. He turns around and smiles at me, and I can see that his teeth are very white.

"Hello, beautiful!" he says and I blush. "I hope I didn't scare you or anything. Siobhan gave me her keys and asked me to take you home last night. You were kind of out of it, and she was spending the night at Peter's place. I slept on the floor so I could keep an eye on you. You trashed around and talked in your sleep a lot, but other than that you seemed okay. How are you feeling?"

I don't know what to say. I feel embarrassed, but Jacob seems so absolutely okay about everything that I don't want to make a big deal about him being here, kind of uninvited. I can't believe Siobhan let a strange man take me home. Although, maybe Jacob isn't strange to her, and I did get to know him last night, in a way.

"I was kind of freaked out to find you here," I admit. "I never get drunk, I never pass out in a cab, and I never get escorted home by men I don't know, so this _is_ kind of scary."

Jacob looks serious, but there's a glint of humor in his eyes. "If you want me to leave, I can go right now and give you some privacy. Would you like that?" He pulls his hand through his black, semi-long hair in a gesture that seems achingly familiar. "I've made breakfast, but I didn't know if you take tea or coffee in the morning."

"Tea, please!" I blurt out, "and you don't have to go, now that you've made breakfast. If you stay and eat with me, maybe I'll feel less strange about having you here." That makes him smile another blinding white smile. I put the kettle on and pull out the mugs while he sets the table for two. There is a mushroom-and-cheese omelet, fried tomatoes and toast. I decide that it's okay to eat because it's breakfast and lunch rolled into one, and since it's Saturday I can celebrate by having a piece of toast.

So I end up having breakfast with Jacob. I learn that he is from the Pacific Northwest, too, in his early thirties, and here on a Fulbright Scholarship like myself. He's working on some post-colonial literary theory and looking at the tales of indigenous peoples of the Americas concerning rites of passage of birth and death. It's really quite fascinating. After a while I realize that the remains of the eggs have dried on our plates, while my hair has dried into a rat's nest on my head, and my bare legs have turned ice cold in the drafty kitchen. When Jacob suggests that he cleans up the dishes while I get dressed so we can go out and catch some rare November sun, I comply easily.

I end up spending the rest of the day with him, walking in Hyde Park and then having coffee in a small Italian café as dusk begins to settle. He takes me home, and before he leaves me on the steps to my house with a promise to get in touch later, he leans in and gives me a quick one-arm hug and a peck on the cheek. I'm surprised by how comfortable I feel with his easy physical familiarity.

Siobhan is home, and grills me with questions about what happened with Jacob. Since I'm still kind of swimming around in a comfortable haze over how well this day has gone, I answer her questions without thinking. Yes, he is a nice man. Yes, I will probably see him again. No, nothing happened, unless you count him sleeping on the floor and making me breakfast as _something_. No, I will never go out with Siobhan again unless she promises to see to it that I don't drink too much wine and personally guarantees that I end up alone, in my own bed.

I scowl at her, and she laughs and promises me that if it hadn't been Jacob she would never have entrusted him with her keys and her roommate. Then she tells me about Peter, and Alba and Rosa, and I listen with half my attention, while the other drifts to memories of the Pacific North West, the rain and the cold and the deep green of the forests. And I realize that this is why Jacob's smell is so comfortable and so familiar to me. Jacob is a little piece of home that fate has brought me in my time of loneliness.

* * *

**A/N: What do you think: is it better if they go on with their own lives, or do Bella and Edward still need to get back together? So some readers have expressed surprise that Edward and Bella didn't spend more time in their relationship together. If you go back, you'll see that they met at the end of May, and are parted in the beginning/middle of July. It just seemed like a longer time because I write so slowly, lol. Please let me know what you think, and I promise I'll get back to you although this is a crazy week! **


	51. Chapter 51

**A/N: Disclaimer - Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. I didn't get this to my beta on time, unfortunately, so this is all me. Sorry. Thank you for reading!**

* * *

**Chapter 51**

_I had a hole in the middle_

_Where the lightning went through it_

_Told my friends not to worry_

_I had a hole in the middle_

_Someone's sideshow wouldn't do it_

_I told my friends not to worry_

_Didn't want to be your ghost_

_Didn't want to be anyone's ghost_

_Didn't want to be your ghost_

_Didn't want to be anyone's ghost_

_But I don't want anybody else_

_I don't want anybody else_

The National: Anyone's ghost

* * *

_**December**_

**RPOV**

The office is always extra crazy in the week before Christmas. It's as if everything is speeding up and slowing down at the same time. Everyone has a bag of things they want to get done before Christmas and are running around with a frantic look in their eyes. At the same time people are sneaking off to go shopping, or sit in front of their computers ordering things off the internet or try to keep up with the round of Christmas parties and Christmas lunches being thrown by associates and those we work with. I clench my teeth as my secretary buzzes me, because I don't want to lose my train of thought in the e-mail I'm just now writing.

"Ms. Hale, you have an unscheduled visitor here to see you, a Mr. Cullen." Heidi's voice is hesitant, as if she's not sure how to handle the situation. I feel as if someone dumped a bowl of egg toddy in my lap. Fucking hell! For a minute I consider screaming, but then I quickly gather my wits.

"Heidi, you have my schedule for the day. You know there isn't room for any unscheduled interruptions. Please inform Mr. Cullen that he will have to call and make an appointment like everybody else and ask him to leave. Don't disturb me unless it's urgent, please." My voice is icy and only a little annoyed. Heidi should be able to handle a situation like this. God knows that she's screened enough unwanted calls and visitors over the years.

"Yes, Ms. Hale." Heidi's voice is resigned. She knows that she's annoyed me and she will try not to do it again if she cares about her job. Over the past couple of months, Edward Cullen has proved to be a real pain in the ass, and Heidi is only one of many employees I have instructed to keep him away from me at all costs and not to mention his name to me anymore. What the fuck does he think he will accomplish by coming here, days before Christmas? That I'll give him Bella's contact information as a Christmas present?

He started out by calling the office. Secretaries took the calls and left me messages. I returned the first couple of calls, but when it became clear that he was only interested in talking to Bella and wasn't going to listen to reason, I told the office to screen his calls and emails. Then he started writing me letters at work. I read the first one. It was quite eloquent, and would have been touching if it hadn't been written by a spoiled fucking teenager, too full of himself for his own good. The ones that followed, I threw in the thrash.

Then I started getting personal messages conveyed through business acquaintances from Chicago who brought me manila envelopes with new letters telling me how imperative it was that he'd speak to Bella. The one that took the price was when a wife of one of the senior partners at the firm took me aside by the elbow at a dinner party and gently chastised me about how harshly I'd been treating that "wonderful Cullen boy." I wasn't surprised when letters started arriving at my apartment, but I wasn't particularly worried either. We have excellent security in our building, and Emmett stays over most nights. I also have a license for a concealed weapon, a handgun that I keep in my purse. And, as I said, Edward Cullen is just a spoiled fucking teenage stalker anyway.

I close my laptop and walk out into the lobby to greet the visitors for my eleven o'clock meeting, only to stop dead in my tracks. Edward is sitting on the sofa by the far wall, dressed neatly in black jeans, a white shirt with a green tie and a dark blazer. A bag is resting on the floor between his feet, and his hands are clasped on his knees. He looks interested but non-confrontational. We have security in the downstairs lobby, so at least I know he can't have brought any weapons with him.

He stands up as he sees me, trying to make eye contact, but I ignore him and focus completely on my guests, shaking hands and leading them through the glass doors to the conference room. Inside, I'm seething. What fucking nerve he has, coming here to my office unannounced! Only, to be fair, he may have announced his intentions in any of the letters or phone calls I've refused to receive.

When the meeting is finished, I walk back to my office and call Heidi.

"Is he still here?" She doesn't ask who I'm talking about, which is an answer in itself.

"Yes, Ms. Hale. He says he won't leave until he gets the chance to talk to you. He says it will only take five minutes of your time."

"Not interested. Heidi, tell him again that I want him to leave, and that if he doesn't you will have to call security and have him forcibly removed from the building." I think I hear a barely audible sigh in the receiver.

"Yes, Ms. Hale."

Fifteen minutes later, there's what can only be described as a commotion outside my office, and Heidi opens the door unannounced.

"Ms. Hale, I called security like you asked, but now Mr. Cullen has handcuffed himself to the sofa. They're saying they can't remove him."

"What?" I rise from my chair and half run out into the lobby. Two of the security guards from downstairs are standing over Edward, looking intimidating, but also at a loss for what to do. They're about twice his size, but I can see the problem. Edward has handcuffed his wrist to the steel piping of our modern waiting room sofa. It's an elegant but quite massive piece of furniture, and I'm not sure if it was taken here in one piece or put together on site when we moved in. I can see that it won't fit through the entrance doors, especially not with Edward as an attachable object. As far as I can see, there are only two possible solutions: break Edward's wrist or break the sofa. I suggest as much to the security staff. Edward just stares at me, pale but determined.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Hale, but we don't have the tools we'd need to be able to saw off the cuffs or the chain, or the steel piping on the sofa. You'll have to get someone professional over here to do the job, then we can carry him out for you."

"What about the keys?" I ask. "Have you searched him? There's got to be a set of keys to the handcuffs on his person somewhere." The security guys just look at each other. The taller one, an Afro-American in his forties, with the bulk and posture of a marine, rubs the back of his neck and smiles ruefully.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Hale, but he swallowed the key just as we got here. It'll probably be quicker to get a locksmith or an engineer with a metal saw or a pair of big pliers." I stare at Edward, incredulous.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me. Edward: did you really swallow the key?" Edward frowns at me, his mouth a stubborn line. He really is gorgeous in the most annoying way possible, even I can see it. I catch Heidi ogling him and give her the stink-eye until she sees me and scuttles back behind her desk.

I throw up my hands in the air, and tell Heidi to get Emmett on the phone.

"You can leave for now. I'll call you when we need some help getting him out of the building," I tell the security staff, who shuffle off, relieved that Edward and the couch is no longer their problem.

"It would be so much easier if you would just talk to me, Rosalie," I whirl around when I hear Edward's quiet voice. It's the first thing he's said to me since he came here, and I feel inexplicably enraged that he's only now chosen to open his mouth, after putting us all in this embarrassing situation. People are moving in and out of our offices all day. A couple of people awaiting their appointments have chosen to hover as far away from Edward as possible in our lobby, uncertain of just how unbalanced he's going to turn out to be.

"It's 'Ms. Hale' to you, Edward. And this will not get you what you want, trust me." I walk into my office and slam the door behind me, then take a couple of deep breaths before picking up the phone to take Emmett's call.

"What's up, baby? Missing me?" His chuckle is all I need to feel infinitesimally better.

"Always, big boy. But that's not why I'm calling right now. Edward Cullen has turned up and has handcuffed himself to a very expensive and very large piece of furniture in our lobby. Security needs some help in getting the handcuffs off him before they can carry him out of the building. Could you please help me? Do you have any tools with you where you are?"

Emmett sucks in a surprised breath, then starts laughing. I hold the phone away from my ear.

"I don't see what's so funny about this. It's a fucking inconvenience, and he's scaring our clients. Could you come right away, please?"

"Oh, yes, this is something I've got to see! I'll be there in 20 minutes, baby. Don't let him walk away before I get there!"

I huff, before ending the call. I'm grateful that Emmett has time to help us out, but I know I'll never hear the end of this. Edward has been calling Emmett, too, but Emmett is to honest to keep it from me and has told Edward that he wouldn't go behind my back. Still, I know that my big guy has a soft spot for this spoiled brat for some reason. He's been introducing Edward and Bella into the conversation a hundred different ways since their epic breakup in July, but I've always made it clear that it's over and done with so far as I'm concerned. Bella told me that she didn't want any contact with Edward, and I am only honoring her wishes. Emmett wouldn't dare to go against us both on this.

Half an hour later, there's a knock at the door and Heidi pops her head inside. "Mr. McCarthy is here for you, Ms. Hale." I walk into the lobby, and Emmett is on the floor by the sofa, looking through his bag of tools, talking to Edward. When I walk up, Emmett looks at me, serious.

"Hey. This kid flew all the way from Chicago just to talk to you for five minutes. Don't you think you could give him that much before they throw him out?" I cringe at the look on his face. I may be a hard woman, but I don't want Emmett to think of me as unfeeling or cold. I guess I can talk to Edward while Emmett pries him loose, but I don't want any witnesses. I turn to Heidi again.

"Heidi, could we get some privacy here for five minutes? Could you connect the phone to one of the other secretaries and stand guard outside the office to make sure no other visitors walk in?" Heidi quickly checks the calendar before replying.

"No one else is coming in before your three o'clock, , but I can wait outside until you tell me to come back. Will you call security yourself?" She nods to Edward, whose unruly hair is standing up in all directions right now, reflecting his flaky mood no doubt. I bet she would offer to take him home with her if she was free for the day. Suddenly I feel paranoid. Who knows how Edward will be able to sneak his way in behind my defenses? Fortunately, Bella's contact information is not something I keep on my company computer for just anyone to find.

After Heidi sends off an e-mail to ask the staff to stay clear of our lobby for the next ten minutes, due to a visit from a construction firm, she steps outside to the elevators, and we're finally on our own.

"So, Edward, what did you have to say to me?" I ask, folding my arms across my chest and standing over Edward with a frown on my face. I don't want to make this pleasant for him.

He looks up at me, completely unintimidated, and I long to slap his pretty face.

"Please, Rosalie, all I ask is that you give me an email-address or a phone number, any way that I can get a message off to Bella. I need to talk to her, to explain myself and ask her to forgive me. After that, I promise I won't bother her again."

I speak stiffly, trying to keep my bad temper reined in. "What could you possibly have to say to Bella that she needs to hear from you? She already knows who you are and what you've done. Nothing you could say would explain away the lies you told her or the danger you put her in. Bella is a teacher, Edward. She's worked around young people every day of her adult life, and she loves her work. She's a great teacher. She needs to be perceived as above reproach." I snort, struck by the ridiculousness of the situation. "Hell, she is so far above you morally that it's ridiculous, but appearances are all, unfortunately." I speak more slowly, for emphasis, fixing him with my gaze.

"Do you want to destroy her life by taking away something that makes her really happy? The best thing for her is if you stay away from her, as far away as possible, so that there can be no association between the two of you. And as far as this goes, you've put yourself in a dangerous position, Edward. Do you want me to call the police and report you for harassing me? I have plenty of proof that you've been acting like an unbalanced loon. How will that look on your perfect little pre-med record? Just stay in Chicago and get on with your life, then for all intents and purposes it will be as if you never existed."

Edward is white as a sheet, if with anger or exhaustion I can't tell. His voice is husky but clear.

"I would never do anything to hurt Bella, don't you get that? But as far as getting on with my life goes, you fail to see that I don't give a damn about my life without Bella. Hell, as far as I'm concerned, I don't _have_ a life without Bella. She's everything to me, and I need to know that she's all right."

Emmett has been filing at the chain of the handcuffs, keeping it taut by holding Edward's arm away from the couch end. He glances at Edward and mumbles soothingly, "Don't worry, Edward, Bella is doing fine. Just give her time, that's all." He leans down and takes out a pair of huge pliers, standing up and positioning them above the chain. Edward stares up at him accusingly.

"You don't understand, neither of you do. What would you do if Rosalie were to suddenly disappear off the face of the earth, and you had no way of contacting her? Would you just move on to the next girl?"

Emmett shakes his head. "I wouldn't want to let her go, no. But the bottom line is, if a woman says no to you, you have to take no for an answer. Otherwise, you're just a creepy stalker." He flexes his arm muscles, and the chain snaps with a sharp cracking sound. Edward jerks his arm back, and holds it against his body as if the jolt of the chain breaking hurt his wrist.

"Are you okay, Edward?" Emmett asks, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I could try to get that cuff off of you, but I would be more comfortable doing it in my workshop where I have more protection and better tools for the job. Will you come with me, and we can talk some more?"

Edward stands up, and his mouth is twisted into something bitter while his eyes are sad.

"Rosalie, please, if you ever thought that what Bella had with me was worth something, please let me talk to her one last time. I won't stalk her. I just need to know how she's feeling, if she hates me. I want to explain myself before she lets me go."

I look at him for the longest time, and something stirs inside me. A memory of Bella as she was before Edward: a broken recluse hiding from the world, licking wounds that went deeper than I understood. Even after the shit hit the fan, Bella has been holding it together, much better than before. Maybe, in some small way, this is Edward's doing. I draw a deep breath.

"Okay, Edward, this is what we'll do. I will give you an email-address that only a handful of people know and that Bella will be able to abandon if she's uncomfortable getting emails from you. You can write to her, but it's entirely up to her if she wants to read what you write and reply, read it and not reply, or if she wants to throw it away on sight. She doesn't owe you anything. Are we clear on this?"

Edward gets up from the couch and looks at me with a crazy sort of hope flickering in his eyes, like the drowning man finally spotting a ship on the horizon.

"Anything you say, Rosalie. I'll accept whatever Bella decides to do. Just give me the chance to contact her, that's all I ask."

"And you'll stop harassing me now? Even if Bella doesn't reply? You won't come back ranting for more?"

Edward shakes his head solemnly. "I promise. No more."

Emmett puts his big arm around Edward's shoulder, giving him a one-armed man hug.

"She'll hold you to that, Eddie-boy," he says, smiling but yet serious. "And so will I. Now, let's get out of here, and see if we can get you out of that piece of jewelry before you have to fly back. Don't think it would look good in airport security. When are you leaving?"

Edward shrugs. "I have an open return ticket booked for tomorrow, but I was prepared to stay for longer if I had to." He looks over at me. "I left a note for my family. Did my Dad call you to warn you I was on my way?"

I shake my head no. "If he had, you would never have walked into the building." I frown, wondering why Dr. Cullen didn't call me to give me the heads-up. Then it strikes me; since I've told the staff to reject all attempts at contact from one Edward Cullen, they probably assumed it was him trying to sneak past when his father called. How ironic. Well, hopefully there won't be any need to ban the Cullen family anymore.

I write down Bella's email-address on a piece of stationery from Heidi's desk and give it to Edward.

"I'm trusting you to be a gentleman now, Edward, not an immature teenage stalker. If Bella doesn't want to have anything to do with you, it's her call, okay?"

Edward sighs, and his shoulders sag, if it's with relief that it's over or in defeat at the thought of facing rejection yet again, I don't know. He looks at me with a sort of quiet determination.

"Okay, but just so you know, I _will _see her again someday, even if I have to wait another five years for it to happen. You can't ban me from the entire United States for all eternity." I shake my head at his stubbornness. Why can't he just get over it and find himself a new little girlfriend to fuck? Maybe I should push Heidi on to him since she looks willing enough. At that very moment, Heidi walks into the room, looking relieved when she sees that Edward is no longer a permanent fixture in the lobby.

"Do you want me to call security again, Ms. Hale?" she asks me timidly. I shake my head.

"That won't be necessary. Mr. McCarthy here is escorting Mr. Cullen out of the building and I have decided not to press charges." I gesture to the piece of the handcuffs still attached to the sofa. "Oh, and when you have time, Emmett, could you send someone over to take care of that, too. We don't want to scare any prospective clients away."

Emmett smirks at me and picks up his bag of tools from the floor, as Edward slings his bag over his shoulder.

"Will do. Come on, Eddie, let's not outstay our welcome. Bye, Heidi!" I snort at Heidi's expression of unbridled lust as she watches the two hunks leaving the office together. It's ridiculous how much she reminds me of a horny Bambi right now. It must be those long, long legs. I frown at her as I sweep into my office.

"Oh, and Heidi, we will no longer be screening calls from anyone named Cullen, so you can take messages as usual and give them to me. And I really think you should think a little more about work appropriate clothing. Cleavage can be acceptable, and short skirts can be acceptable, too, but I don't want to see your bra _and_ your panties on the same day, preferably. That's not why Victoria's Secret sells matching sets, you know?" I smirk to myself as I leave Heidi blushing behind her desk. All in all, it's not been such a bad day. Now, I only have to warn Bella. Or wait until she contacts me. If I'm lucky, Edward's plane will go down in flames and Bella will never be the wiser of what happened here today. Merry Christmas.

'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*

E-mail from eacullen to BaSwan

Dec 20 2011

Subject: Please forgive me Bella.

Dear Bella,

Please don't freak out. Rosalie gave me this e-mail address, but don't think too badly of her for it. I've been making her life hell for the past months, calling her office, e-mailing her, writing letters, getting people who know her in Chicago to give her messages from me. She's yelled at me a lot, and called me a lot of colorful names. Well, you know Rosalie, you can fill in the blanks. Finally she said she would give me an e-mail address that you don't use frequently, and let you know that she'd given it to me. That way, you could choose to ignore my e-mails, or delete them on sight, or save them to use against me some day in the future when I get married, to show my bride what a deceitful bastard I really am. (Rosalie's words, not mine.)

Personally, I can't really see a future right now where I marry anyone, so I'm just going to risk it. I figure I deserve what's coming to me, so whatever you choose to do is fine by me. I just need to say some things to you, and I hope one day these words will reach you.

I'm more sorry than I can ever say for anything and everything I've done or said, or didn't do or didn't say, that hurt you. Hurting you is the very last thing I wanted to do. When I left Chicago on the run, I decided to tell people I was 21 to avoid problems. By the time I met you, I wasn't thinking about it anymore. I realized, much too late, that it might be important to you. You already know that you saved my life from the moment I met you, and I will never stop saying how much you mean to me, or acknowledge to anyone who will listen what a strong, brave, wonderful person I think you are.

Bella, I know that you have a strong inner moral compass that lets you know when people are wrong in what they do, but that this never stops you from having compassion with them all the same, and loving them. That compassion is maybe what made you stay with James much longer than he deserved, because you didn't stop hoping, even when you knew in your heart that what he did was wrong. So, now I'm hoping that, one day, that compassion will help you forgive me, in spite of what I've done. I hope that I'll be lucky enough to stand in front of you and have you yell at me, mad as hell. That would make me the happiest man on earth.

I know that you probably think of me as immature and irresponsible now. I know I have been. I'm trying to do better. I called Kate as you wished and told her I was quitting because I went home and that I didn't plan on coming back. She asked me about you but I told her to talk to Rosalie if she needed to talk to you. I hope that was okay. Since you haven't answered any of my calls I'm assuming you've changed your number.

Please know Bella that I think of you every day, and that I won't stop hoping that I'll see you again, as long as I know that we both still live and breathe. I love you.

Edward.

* * *

**A/N: So, finally, a sort of progress. What did you think of Edward's strategy? And of Rosalie's response? What would you have done in his shoes? Please let me know what your feelings are! **

**Oh, and while I remember it, I have to ask you if you've seen hollelujah's epic fic Substance Clad in Shadows (id: 8957172) ? After a long hiatus, it's moving along again, towards its end. Check it out! Psychologically disturbed Bella goes after callous Edward, as one sexual predator after another. Can anything good ever come of this?**


	52. Chapter 52

**A/N: Disclaimer - Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. This week, I have tried to manage without the excellent help of my beta, so I apologize for any and all mistakes!**

* * *

**Chapter 52.**

_**December**_

_No walls can keep me protected_

_No sleep, nothing in between me and the rain_

_And you can't save me now_

_I'm in the grip of a hurricane_

_I'm gonna blow myself away_

_I 'm going out, I'm gonna drink myself to death_

_And in the crowd I see you with someone else_

_I brace myself 'cause I know it's going to hurt_

_But I like to think at least things can't get any worse_

_No home I don't want shelter_

_No calm, nothing to keep me from the storm_

_And you can't hold me down_

_Cause I belong to the hurricane_

_It's gonna blow this all away_

_I'm going out.._

_I hope that you see me 'cause I'm staring at you_

_But when you look over, you look right through_

_Then you lean and kiss her on the head_

_And I never felt so alive and so dead_

_I'm going out, I'm gonna drink myself to death.._

Florence and the Machine: Hurricane Drunk

* * *

**BPOV**

I pull my bag out of the locker at the gym, feeling sweaty and gross. I don't like public showers, but it's worse riding the Tube in my sweaty training clothes, feeling my humid skin cool uncomfortably until I start to shiver. There are scales here at the gym and when no one's around to see me naked, I quickly check my weight. I thought about getting some scales for our bathroom, but I'm afraid Siobhan will ask me why I feel it's necessary to have them, or that she will take offense. I think she's beautiful and I'm constantly amazed at how comfortable she seems to be in her body, in spite of being anything but the ideal of feminine beauty currently in swing. She keeps picking up interesting guys too, in spite of being close to forty and big, living proof that all guys aren't buying into the Kate Moss hype.

I sigh. Okay, still at 145 pounds. I guess that's to be expected. I cheat too much these days, eating a piece of bread here and there, tasting Siobhan's dinners, and going out drinking with her friends. For a long time I never touched alcohol, but now that I've started again it's kind of addictive. I like rolling a good wine around my tongue, the tanginess of an oaked Chardonnay, the crispness of a Chablis, the satisfying berry taste of a Cabernet Sauvignon or the fire of a good Syrah. And I like how, after a couple of glasses of wine, everything begins to feel a little fuzzy around the edges and not so important anymore. I frown. Maybe I have to watch it if I start enjoying it too much. I could easily develop an addiction. That's why I've always been careful about medication and never wanted to try drugs. Food used to be my drug, but now it's more like poison.

I wrap my big, pink towel around myself and head for the shower. To my relief it's empty, so I won't have to avert my eyes from any sleek, shaved bodies or determinedly ignore eyes boring into my back, judging me. Live with it, I'd like to say. It will happen to you too, sometime. Only, maybe it won't. People are different. Some are genetically gifted, some are not. Some things don't change.

When I've finished in the shower I hurry up and get dressed before the locker room fills up with giggling women from the latest yoga class. I blow dry my hair just enough so that the cold air outside won't chill me and make me catch cold, cast a quick, disapproving look at myself in the mirror, noting that my face is pink and flushed and my nose is shiny. Some powder will have to do the trick, I don't have the time or inclination to do an elaborate make-up here.

As I step out into the street I tilt my head back to look up at the black sky, where the thick clouds reflect the eerie pink-orange light from the city that is revving up for another Friday night. I had a text from Jacob waiting for me when I left the library earlier, "U coming out tonite? Meet us at the Dragon at 8:30?" I answered "Maybe. Call you later!" since I wasn't sure if I would feel up to it after gym.

Now, I'm torn. I'm kind of depressed at the fact that I've stopped losing weight but I'm feeling both tired and energized by the workout. My stomach is growling at me, and I know that low blood sugar is probably one part of the reason why I'm feeling down, but I'm unwilling to do anything about it. Then I think about how Jacob almost always makes me feel better. I smile to myself. Okay, I'll go to the pub with the gang tonight, but I'll keep it clean, go easy on the carbs and try to feel good about myself.

When I cross the street to the tube station, I suddenly see the back of a young man walking away from me, dragging a hand through tousled brown hair, a long, easy gait and broad shoulders on a tall, lean body and I feel a jolt go through my stomach as my heart clenches. I stop on the side walk, mesmerized, with my training bag dragging my arm towards the ground as my grip slackens. _Edward_, my mind whispers, then screams. _Not Edward!_ I tense all my tired muscles and jerk myself to life again, heading determinedly towards the gates with my eyes unseeingly fixed in front of me.

I swipe my card, jostle through the crowd hugging my bag to me on the way down to the platform, while I try to slow my accelerated heart beat with long, deep breaths. This happens once in a while, and it's painful and exhilarating at the same time. I see someone that reminds me of him, a gesture, a look, a build, and I'm suddenly kick-started by the same kind of electricity that used to ignite me at his touch. Only now it's the memory alone that drives me. My poor body vibrates as the sensory memories overload me. Edward's strong hands and long fingers, winding through my hair, circling my hips, Edwards intense green eyes, the softness of his lips, skating across my brow, nipping along my jaw, ear lobes and neck, sucking on my hardening nipples, greedily kissing his way down my body to the apex of my thighs, where he would settle with a groan of pleasure.

I flush, remembering how much he loved going down on me. He used to kid me about it, saying that if I knew what was best for me I would lock him up in a closet and feed him caviar and champagne, to make sure no other woman ever found out I had 24/7 access to a man who loved giving oral. I tingle all over just thinking about him, tingle with lust and shame and longing. I wish I could drop everything and just run, run until my whole body and head is pounding with the beat of my heart trying to thrash its way out of my chest, my breath crashing through my throat, beating every memory, every thought out of me. Instead, I stand rigid, wedged between strangers, clutching onto a slick metal rail, my knuckles white with the effort to hold myself still, to not panic again. I haven't had a panic attack since summer.

I burst out of the train car at my station, almost stumbling over my own feet in my eagerness to get away from other people, to be alone. I walk back to the apartment as quickly as possible, counting my breaths, my steps, concentrating on not remembering. When I open the door I'm relieved to find that the apartment seems empty, no Siobhan. I drop my things, only stopping to hang up my damp towel and sweats before blasting the music on my iPod and quickly going through the fridge.

No, I will not distract myself with unhealthy food, I grab a low-fat, non-sweetened yoghurt from the fridge and an apple from the bowl of fruit, and pick up a bottle of water before going into my room. I sit at the desk and eat my dinner, frowning, staring out of the window into the night, trying to let the music drown out my thoughts and feelings. Robyn is singing about a girl dancing on her own. Yeah, that's me. I feel the corners of my mouth dragging down, and I'm momentarily worried that I'm giving myself a whole new set of sad worry-lines, post-Edward lines. _This is no good_. I stand up and stretch, take my trash out to the kitchen and head into the bathroom. I will _not_ wallow, I'm a strong, independent woman with my whole life in front of me. I'm going to go out with friends and feel good about myself!

Toothbrush, hair brush, make-up and a tiny splash of perfume later, I'm heading out in skinny jeans and a long green silk top with a black jeans jacket on top, cutting straight as an arrow through this city of anonymous crowds, lights and sounds. I'm going to find people who know me, people who – I think – love me. I blink when I feel my eyes smarting, but I tell myself that it's just the eyeliner. Things are getting better. They will have to get better. They have to.

When I get to the pub it's Jacob, Peter, the Brazilian girls and a lot of people I haven't met before, and for a moment I feel my heart sink. I still feel a little uncomfortable meeting new people, in spite of the fact that I've told myself over and over that it's silly to think that they have any reason to judge me. To be sure, these people don't seem to be interested enough in me to form any kind of opinion. After a smile, a hand-shake or a wave I'm part of the group, unnoticed, inconspicuous, just the way I like it. I sigh with relief as I sink down beside Jacob, who gives me a one-armed hug and promptly asks what he can get me from the bar. There's a bottle of tequila on the table and some lemon wedges, and it's obvious that the whole group has been drinking beer and doing tequila shots - the raised voices and giggling make me smile.

"I'll have what you're having: I haven't had tequila since I was in college."

Jacob looks skeptical, but then breaks out in a wide grin. "Bella, the college girl, welcome back! Wow, college girls just keep getting hotter these days!" He stops grinning when he sees my frown.

"Seriously, though, you look great in that outfit, Bella – other college girls can just go home right now and call it a night. Let me get you a glass and a beer, okay? Be right back, don't move. And don't let any douchebag take my seat either!"

He disappears through the crowd, his tall shape and broad back visible across the room as he maneuvers himself into position to get the bar keeper's attention. When I turn around I find a man watching me across the table, a smile on his face.

"Hi, I didn't get a chance to properly introduce myself, I'm Aidan." He gives me his hand and we shake awkwardly between the bottles and glasses. He has dark brown hair that flops across his forehead, a handsome face with shrewd eyes that miss nothing and a pronounced cleft in his chin that begs to be touched. "Do you work with Jacob? You're Bella, right? He's been mentioning you a lot."

I shake my head, embarrassed at the thought that Jacob's been talking about me to people I don't know. What on earth has he told them about me, anyway?

"No we don't work together, although we're both fellow countrymen and we're working in the same field, in a way. Jacob is really a nice guy, but he talks too much. If he's told you that I'm an emotionally unstable lush who's liable to rant at you about the rule of patriarchy when I drink too much, he is way off target. I only do that when I'm with friends."

Aidan laughs, and it's a disarming sound, just as Jacob plops himself down beside me again.

"I hope to become your friend, then Bella, and you can rant at me all you want."

Jacob looks between the two of us, quizzically. "Uh-oh, what has Aidan been telling you now?"

"Oh, Bella has only told me of your verbal incompetence, which I understand encompasses everything from your academic writing to your general failure to come up with a decent pick-up line? The last part is something I can bear witness to from personal experience, I may add."

Now Jacob is mock-scowling at Aidan, while I help myself to a shot of tequila and a fresh lemon wedge.

"Look who's talking: Mr. Incompetence himself! Aidan here is slaving away all day as a copy writer at some pathetic ad agency, which gives him an awfully big head. Unfortunately, that's not what girls are looking for in the big department, so after he ends up lonely and rejected in his parents' back room in Reading every Friday night he tends to take it out on the people he likes to pretend are his friends. I'm picking up all the beautiful girls I want, thank you very much, which should be obvious." Jacob smirks, and in a quick move, scoops me up and settles me on his lap, planting a smacking big kiss on my mouth. I've just swallowed my first tequila and lemon and Jacob's soft, wet lips are a chaser I didn't expect. I pull away red in the face, but Jacob's big hands around my waist prevent me from toppling over and falling to the floor.

"Hey, Bella, steady! Don't go swooning on me now." Jacob laughs, while I try to laugh with him and the rest of the smiling people around the table. But then I slap his chest and determinedly push him away.

"Okay, now: behave! I'm not your girlfriend, and I will not be objectified. Keep all parts of your body away from me."

I ask Aidan if we can swap places, and he's only too happy to oblige, although this puts him even more directly in Jacob's line of fire.

From a safer distance I watch their bantering, while I take another shot of tequila and enjoy the taste of my beer and the tang of lemon and fresh lime on my tongue. Too soon, though, people are breaking up the party to head out to other venues and I don't feel like calling it a night just yet.

"Bella!" It's Aidan, standing right next to me in the crowd of people putting on their jackets and discussing cabs and buses. "Would you and Jacob come with me to a rock concert I'm writing about? I have a couple of extra tickets and it's supposed to be really good?"

Jacob is beside me again, helping me into my jacket and he grins over my shoulder. "What do you say, Bella? Want to relive some more of your college days and go headbanging with me?"

I wrinkle my nose at him. "I never banged any heads in college, but I'd be glad to knock yours and Aidan's together if you act up." I clap Aidan on the shoulder. "Lead the way: I'm all for a little rock concerting, I did too little of that when I had the chance." I feel happy at the thought of loud music and a crowded club: movement soothes me, even if I'm a crappy dancer, and jumping up and down is just what I feel like doing now. I'm glad I decided to wear my black heelless riding boots.

We manage to find a cab and Aidan gives the driver the address. I'm still trying to learn to find my way around London and I stare out at the streets flashing by, catching an occasional street sign that I recognize. We finally stop outside a big brick building, a theater where a line of people are heading inside. Posters outside announce "Florence and the Machine", a band I vaguely remember reading about. My head is spinning a bit from the booze but I feel good. I'm with two handsome, funny men, we are enjoying each other's company and now there will be music!

Aidan gets us inside, and there's a bar at the back that's open so he quickly gets us drinks before I can decide whether this is a good idea or not. Surrounded by Aidan and Jake, I manage to push my way through the crowd much more easily than I would ever have on my own, and don't even spill my drink. We have seats close to the front of the theater, but there's an open space in front of the stage where I wonder if there's going to be a mosh pit. I've never been in one, but I'm feeling reckless tonight. A little stage diving isn't completely out of the question, either.

When the lights dim and the recorded music dies down, the crowd goes wild. I'm on my feet, downing my drink quickly so that I'll have my hands free for clapping. When the band starts playing the sound's incredible. It's like being surrounded and inhabited by the music, as if the rhythm and the guitars are taking me over from inside. The drums thunder in my ribcage and beat deafeningly against my eardrums and I fuzzily realize that maybe I should have brought ear plugs.

As if he's read my mind, Aidan taps me on the shoulder and holds out a pair of professional-looking ear plugs connected with a striped string. He winds it around my neck when I nod, and hands me the ear plugs, smiling, probably at the silly, blissful smile I feel painted across my face. I put the plugs in, and the sound is immediately muffled to a non-painful level. Jacob puts an arm around my waist and we sway to the music. No one is sitting down in their seats that I can see, and the space in front of the stage has already filled up. The singer is center stage and she's a force of nature; she has a voice that sounds bigger than her body and a commanding stage presence. She's beautiful, strong and awesome. I want to be like her. I think maybe I could be.

There's a brief pause in the middle of the concert, which I spend in line to the bathroom, but when I come out, Jake is waiting for me and I can't help thinking how sweet he is to watch out for me like this. He hands me a bottle of water, which I sorely need. We find Aidan talking to a couple of cool-looking guys who turn out to be musicians, too. He's interviewing them for his article so we leave him to it and find our seats just as the second act starts. I'm dancing, swaying, jumping up and down, letting the beat take my body and erase any lingering bad feelings or glum thoughts from my mind. When I look around, Aidan is back and takes my hand, moving with me so that we're almost dancing together in our seats. I can't remember feeling this happy in a long, long time. The room is spinning, but I feel so good I don't care. By the time the concert ends, everyone is ecstatic and I'm completely wiped out.

"Have you heard her before?" Aidan shouts to me over the general din around us now that the music has stopped and the generic background music is back on. I shake my head.

"No, but it was amazing. I've got to get hold of her music. What about you?" Aidan shrugs.

"I saw her before she got this big. She's good, though, and she gets better all the time. It was a good concert tonight. Thank you for coming with me." Aidan looks at Jake, who is standing behind me, a big warm hand on my shoulder. "Are you going home now?" Jake squeezes my shoulder gently and I hear a smile in his voice when he speaks close to my ear.

"I'm going to make sure Bella gets home all right. It's sort of a standing order from her flat mate, Siobhan."

Aidan raises his eyebrows and smiles at me. "So you're sharing a flat with Siobhan? I've met her. She's nice. Are you going to take a cab? It might be difficult to find one right now."

Jake starts walking slowly towards the exit, following the movements of the crowd. I can feel his hand on my back and it's a familiar, reassuring feeling. "We'll take the Tube, or the bus if we must. Don't worry, Bella, I've got this. I'll carry you home if I have to."

"I sincerely hope that that's a joke," I mumble, but right now I'm dead on my feet and definitely feeling the alcohol. Being carried doesn't sound half bad. Outside, it's cold and I'm grateful for remembering to bring my winter coat and scarf with me to the concert from the pub. Jacob helps me shrug into it, and in an almost tender gesture he wraps the scarf twice around my neck, then kisses the tip of my nose before letting me go. It's the tenderness more than anything that makes me tingle and my breath catch. I've missed this kind of sweet attention from a man after the weeks when Edward spoiled me with his affection. I lean into Jacob as he wraps an arm around me and starts walking along the road. Aidan trails with us and Jake and he jokes about the kind of people that go to these types of concerts and if you could write an article about the quality of a concert based solely upon what people you'd see in the audience.

After a while, Jake's piercing whistle and 6,4 towering body brings us the attention of a cab driver. Aidan waves us off, planning to walk for a bit and then spend the night at a friend's place. I stumble into the cavernous back of the cab, and promptly fall asleep on Jacob's chest, as the car speeds through the streets still lively with people spilling out of pubs and clubs. When we pull in to the curb in front of my house I wake up and start tugging on his arm.

"It's late and you live on the other side of town. Come on, you can stay the night. We've done this before." Jacob chuckles and pays the driver while I try to stand up straight and keep my eyes from falling shut again, letting the cold night air cool my burning face. It's not until we're inside the dark apartment, that I realize that maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Siobhan's door is closed, so she may have company. There's no extra bed and I don't really want to force Jacob to sleep on the floor again. That is bound to be uncomfortable.

While we get rid of our coats and shoes in the hall, I whisper, "Is it okay for you to sleep on the floor? I feel bad about it." Jacob smiles and touches my cheek. "Not a problem. Could I borrow a toothbrush, though? I feel kind of gross." I turn the lights on in my room, and in spite of feeling cross-eyed and achingly tired, I dig out a towel, an extra toothbrush and an old t-shirt that is XL and almost big enough for Jake's frame. Jacob takes his things and uses the bathroom before me, while I unearth a decent pair of pyjamas from the bottom of the drawer. I drag the quilt and a pillow from the bed to the soft carpet, prodding it with my toes and finding it pretty inadequate.

When he comes out of the bathroom, barefoot and dressed only in his jeans, his bare chest glistening with drops of water from his shower, I'm momentarily confused and have to avert my eyes. I didn't think about what it would mean to actually have a man in my room while I was conscious. To cover my confusion I carefully turn the lights out, leaving only the desk lamp to light our way.

I take a quick shower to get rid of the dried sweat from our dancing session, brush my teeth and take my birth control pill. I don't know why I keep taking them, except that it's a sign of good faith. One day I might meet someone I want to have sex with, even if it's not Edward, and that person just _might_ want to have sex with me. Before shutting my phone off for the night and plugging in the charger, I check my private email account to see if Charlie has sent me an email yet, telling me what he wants for Christmas. I may not be planning on going home, but I do want to send him a present. My eyes get stuck at an unfamiliar signature. eacullen . Subject: Bella, please forgive me. My woozy mind goes very still and a wave of nausea rises in my throat. I quickly shut my phone down, leaving it on the counter by my bag of toiletries as I stumble out of the bathroom. _Edward._

Inside my bedroom, Jake is propped on his side on the floor, wearing my t-shirt and wrapped in the quilt He's leafing through a book by the light from the desk lamp. He looks up when he hears me entering, but his smile falls as he sees the expression on my face. It feels frozen, so I have no idea how I look. Bad, I reckon. Jake throws the quilt aside, jumps to his feet and then stands in front of me, clutching my arms, as if he's trying to hold me up. "Bella, what's wrong? Are you feeling sick? Can I get you something?" I shake my head.

"Hold me," I whisper, "just hold me, please." And he does.

His big arms are an incredible comfort as they envelop me in a hug against his half-naked body, pressing me into his chest. His huge hand cradles the back of my head, and I close my eyes, pressing my cheek into his shirt, smelling the clean t-shirt smell mixed with his own strangely outdoorsy fragrance of woods and water and snow. He rocks me softly in a gentle movement, then pulls me down to sit on the edge of the bed. He scoots us up so that we're leaning with our backs against the wall, never for a moment letting me go. I crawl around so that my flannel-clad legs are across his lap and I can hug him harder, pressing my face into his chest. He's wearing a pair of black boxers, and his naked legs look tanned, golden-brown in the subdued light from the lamp. I can feel him kissing the top of my head and it reminds me of Edward, which makes my insides hurt even more. When I sob, he bends his head down and nuzzles my cheek, whispering, "Bella, sweetheart, what can I do?"

It's not a conscious decision on my part, but when I turn my head slightly, his lips are at the corner of my mouth, and when he kisses me there, I kind of melt against him. My lips respond, capturing his bottom lip and softly pulling it into my mouth. I can feel the electric bolt that goes through us both when our mouths connect and his tongue slips into my half-open mouth. The groan that escapes him echoes the deep longing rising up from inside me, the longing to be enveloped, to be cherished and obliterated all at once. I cup his face with both my hands and kiss him for real.

It's so different from kissing Edward, and at first that's pure relief. Jacob is different in every way; he is larger, harder, gentler, his kisses sloppier but passionate as he starts kissing his way down my throat, licking at my ear lobes, sucking on my shoulder as his hands follow the curve of my body and cups my hips, suddenly jack-knifing with incredible smoothness for someone so big, pulling his own legs up, flipping me down and himself half on top of me. I want him to cover me, smother me. He carefully cups my breast on top of my pajama jacket, and I arch into his hand.

His voice is gravelly when he speaks. "Bella, you have to tell me: do you want this? Because if you don't, just tell me to stop and I will. Okay?" I nod, impatient. I don't want to stop to think right now. I just want more of him, of his warmth, and his heaviness, his mouth and his strong and gentle hands.

It's not until after I've freed him from his t-shirt and his boxers that he carefully removes my pajama jacket, button by button, until he can pull it off my shoulders and reverently trace my breasts, first with his fingers, then with his tongue. I pull on his long, silky-soft hair and moan, pressing my hips into his erection. It feels big, but I'm not interested in making comparisons right now. I want to forget everything except us and how we make each other feel. I palm him and feel him arch into my hand, sucking in a sharp breath.

"God, Bella, oh, that feels so good. Can I please touch you?" His voice sounds as desperate as I feel, and I shimmy out of my pants, ignoring how naked I feel in the cool air of the room. It doesn't matter what Jacob thinks of me because we're just friends. He wants this as much as I do, I can feel it in every way. When his large hand palms my center and starts exploring me with his fingers, I feel my eyes roll back into my head. _God. I've missed this. _I keep touching him, until he grabs my hand and stops me.

"I'm gonna cum if you keep that up, Bella. Is that what you want? Or could I please be inside you when I do? I have condoms in my wallet." He hesitates. "Is that too much? Just tell me. Anything you say is fine." I shake my head and mumble, "I'm on the pill. I'm clean. Please, I want you." I put my leg across his hip, pressing my wet center against his hardness, and he makes a sobbing sound as he rolls over, kissing me deeply. "God, I want you so much Bella, I've wanted this for so long, you have no idea."

He positions himself at my opening and gently presses against me. I arch my back and lift my hips, impatient to feel him. We both gasp with surprise at the feeling when he enters me. It's been a while and I feel my flesh stretch to accommodate him as he slides deeper and deeper, until he's finally sheathed inside me as I feel him touch my cervix, a dull pain that is also a pleasure. I moan at the feeling of fullness, of being invaded by him, his skin, his smell and his heavy body on top of mine. I want him to shake all other memories out of me, as when I turn my purse upside down on the bed to empty it of all the hidden trash at the bottom. I want my body empty and clean, exorcised of every wonderful and painful memory of last summer. I want it now.

"More," I whisper, "Jacob, I need more." And he gives me more, with his mouth and his fingers and his powerful hips. Much sooner than I would have thought possible, I feel myself approaching my orgasm. Maybe it's just been too long. Maybe I just need this too much. I shake my head back and forth in anticipation and lift my hips even more, eager for the friction, eager for the feeling of being pounded by this beautiful, powerful body as I give myself over and let myself become pure physical feeling. It's like riding a huge wave that just keeps coming, building, then letting me slide over and over on the other side, into oblivion. Jake cums too, making abandoned noises of ecstasy and relief as he shudders above me, then buries himself deep inside me and rolls me around so violently that I'm afraid we'll end up on the floor. His arms are wrapped around me and his face is buried in my neck, I'm lying on top of him and I almost think he's going to go to sleep when he whispers; "Bella, that was so incredible. You're so amazing. I'm the luckiest man alive right now."

I'm slowly coming back to myself from wherever I've been, conscious of my body that feels heavy with sleep and bruised from the inside with the unusual exertion of lovemaking. I need to clean up. I kiss Jacob's cheek and whisper "Stay, I just need to use the bathroom for a minute." He lets me go, and I pull up the duvet and throw it across his naked body before I slip on my pajama jacket and tip toe out to the bathroom in the hall. It's not until I'm standing in the shower with the hot water running over my face that the enormity of what I've just done hits me. _I had sex. With Jacob!_ Jacob, who is funny and sweet, smart as a whip and gentle as a child. Jacob, who I love, but am definitely not in love with. _What the hell is wrong with me?_

And the old feeling of revulsion comes back with full force. I feel ugly from the inside out, a pathetic woman who preys on younger men. I think back on that one, disastrous time last summer when we role played and I pretended to be Edward's teacher. How sick and twisted that seems to me now. If anyone ever finds out, I think I will die of shame. I didn't know everything about Edward, but I should have known that it was wrong to fall in love with him. And here I am, making another mistake, letting my horniness and desperation lead me into hurting another human being.

I sit down on the toilet seat, wrapped in a towel and sob into my hands. What should I do? How can I find the strength to face everything, to deal with Edward again? What do I tell Jacob?

A gentle knock at the door makes me pull up sharply, stifling my sobs.

"Bella? It's me, Siobhan. Can I please come in?" I scrub my face with the towel, then pull it tighter around me as I open the door. Siobhan slips inside, closing the door gently behind her. She's dressed in a Victorian-looking white cotton night gown with her hair like a golden-red cloud behind her. She looks like an angel.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong? I heard you come in with someone; did something happen?"

I shake my head and wipe my nose with toilet paper. "It's stupid. I went out with Jacob, and he came back with me. I invited him to stay over, then something happened and then … we had sex. Oh, Siobhan!" I start crying again, trying to keep quiet so as not to wake up Jacob. Siobhan pulls me into a motherly hug.

"Was it consensual? Are you okay?" Her voice is tight, and I feel cold when I realize how this might look to her. I nod emphatically, burrowing my head into her neck and taking comfort in the sweet, spicy smell of her, like cinnamon and cloves. I try to calm my breathing down.

"Yes, it was completely consensual. It was my own fault. I … I was upset, and I wasn't thinking. I just threw myself at him and now I feel bad. He p … probably thinks I want him, but … but it was a big mistake!"

Siobhan carefully untangles my wet hair and pushes it out of my face, then takes down my terrycloth robe from the door and wraps it around me, pulls a towel from the pile by the sink and starts rubbing my hair dry.

"You had sex with him, but you feel bad about it, because you don't really have feelings for him, is that what you're saying?" I keep my eyes on the bathtub and nod. Her hands are gentle but firm, and when she starts brushing my hair out I close my eyes altogether because it feels so relaxing. I've stopped crying and feel calmer.

"I had an email from someone tonight. He's a sort of ex. We broke up before I left the United States, and I made it clear that I didn't want to stay in touch with him. I don't know how he got my email address and it upset me. Then Jacob was there and I ended up kissing him. I don't know why I did that." I can feel Siobhan braiding my damp hair, then she tugs a little on the braid so that I open my eyes and look at her.

"Is your ex the reason why you've been so sad all the time? Do you miss him? What happened?" She sits down on the edge of the bathtub, her green-grey eyes intent on my face. I shake my head.

"It was the sort of relationship that was wrong to begin with and I should have known that, but I couldn't keep away from him. Then I discovered that he'd been lying to me and he had to leave, so it ended. Then I came here. I don't want to miss him, but I suppose that I do. Too much."

Siobhan looks thoughtful. "So you don't feel that you're ready to be with anyone else yet, is that it?"

"I don't know." I bite my lip, looking down. "I'm such a mess. I've started thinking that maybe I shouldn't be with anyone, ever. I don't seem to be good at relationships and I keep choosing the wrong kind of guys. I shouldn't trust my own judgment." I look up at Siobhan, and I can feel the helplessness painted across my face.

"I don't have very much relationship experience, except a marriage that ended in disaster. I'm beginning to believe that just because I've always felt ugly and geeky, I'm so grateful when someone unlikely turns up to sweep me off my feet that I don't stop to ask myself why they seem unlikely. I should be asking myself if it maybe means that there's something wrong with them. You know Jacob: everything's right with him. So, of course I'm not in love with him." I shrug, huddling in my robe. I feel as if I've reached some kind of epiphany here in the bathroom at 2 a.m.

Siobhan shakes her head and puts her hand on my arm. "Look, Bella, we don't know each other that well, but ever since you came here I could tell that you were feeling depressed for some reason. I thought it was the culture shock or that you were missing home, but I've really started to worry about you. Even when we're out with friends and you _seem _happy there's some part of you that's holding back, as if you're just waiting for the other shoe to drop and someone come to take it all away from you. And your eating … hell, I couldn't survive on twice of what I see you put into your mouth, alcohol not included, of course." I frown, because this is a sore point. I keep trying to lose weight, but I'm not doing that well.

"I'm trying to eat healthy. I don't have an eating disorder if that's what you're saying," I bite off at her. Siobhan nods, and her face is gentle in the artificial light of the bathroom.

"I'm not saying that you do. All I'm saying is that it seems to me you're being very hard on yourself and making yourself unhappy when you have no reason to be. You're an intelligent, funny and beautiful woman who seems to be very good at what she does. Jacob is very fond of you, and I'm sure that he won't stomp off if you tell him that tonight was a mistake. I'm very fond of you, too, and I think you should get some help. Find another perspective on things."

I squint at her, tired and skeptical. "What, are you suggesting I need therapy? I did try that before, you know. It was okay, but I don't know that I need any more." I think back to Dr. Banner's cool and quiet office and the hours I spent in there sniffing into a tissue, then gradually gaining my composure back. She was a behavior-related therapist and that was what I thought I needed at the time: help to get a handle on things and strategies to coping. I _am_ coping better, now. I just feel terrible, that's all. Can therapy cure heartbreak? I don't think so.

Siobhan cocks her head and just looks at me, as if to say "What have you got to lose?" Then she speaks. "I have this friend, Maggie, who's a therapist. She works with a special technique, compassion-focused therapy." She raises her hands in the air, as if she can see what I'm thinking. "It's not mumbo-jumbo or positive thinking, I promise. It's more about identifying the things in your life that drain you of energy and recognizing and affirming what's good in your life. I tried it, and it really helped me feel better about myself. If you want, I can call her tomorrow and check for an appointment. I'll even go with you and see her. If you don't feel it's what you want, then you can forget it. What do you say?"

I twist the sleeve of my robe between my fingers. I have been feeling extremely low all autumn, so much so that I've been thinking of seeing a doctor to ask for some kind of medication, which is a sign of true desperation on my part. Maybe the drinking has been some kind of self-medication. In any case, it's not working, and it's counteracting my weight-loss goal which makes me feel even more worthless and depressed. I sigh.

"All right. I'll come with you and see this Maggie-person. But I'm not saying I'll start therapy with her. I'll talk to her, and then we'll see." I stand up and lean forward to hug Siobhan. When she's sitting down, she's a head shorter than me, and I press my cheek into her soft curls, hugging her warm, soft body.

"Thank you," I whisper, and feel her answering squeeze around my waist.

"You're welcome. Do you think you can sleep, now? Do you want to stay in my room?" I shake my head.

"No, I'll be fine. I'll talk to Jake in the morning. Right now, we both need our sleep."

After Siobhan has gone back to bed, I put on my pajama jacket and creep into my bedroom. The light is still on, but Jake is snoring, deeply entangled in the duvet. I find my pajama bottoms on the floor, turn out the light and wrap myself in the quilt on the carpet. I wince when I feel the floorboards digging into my hip underneath the carpet. _Crap. I'm too old for this stuff._ It takes some time before I finally drift off to sleep. Jake's snoring and my own churning thoughts needle me every time I feel myself relaxing. I feel as if it must be close to dawn when I finally drift off to sleep, too exhausted to resist anymore.

When I wake up, I'm confused at first. I'm back in my bed, and I'm alone. As soon as I sit up, I see Jacob sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed, dressed and reading.

"Hey," I mumble softly. "why are you down there?"

Jacob startles, puts the book down and turns to me. He's frowning, and I immediately feel the guilt pulling at me. _What have I done?_

"I woke up in the night and saw you on the floor. I figured you weren't comfortable sleeping in the same bed with me, so I moved you. It didn't seem right that I should steal your bed."

"Did you get any sleep?" I ask, trying to think of a way to start the conversation. How do you dump someone when you've only just got together? But it seems like Jacob is reading my mind. He moves up and sits on the side of the bed, while I scoot over to make more room, and he touches my cheek very carefully, his eyes sad.

"Were you having second thoughts, Bella, is that it? Do you think this was a mistake?"

He's giving me an easy out. I shake my head, because it shouldn't be that easy.

"Yes. I mean, I shouldn't have done what I did. You're a wonderful man, Jacob, and you deserve better from me than this. I wasn't thinking, just reacting. It wasn't even about you. I'm so sorry."

His face hardens. "So, there's someone else? I thought you were divorced? Is it someone I know?"

I shake my head, embarrassed. "No, I'm not in a relationship with anyone, that's not the point. I had an affair last summer after my divorce came through, and it ended badly. I left all that behind me when I came here. Now he's trying to get in touch with me again. It's very confusing. I shouldn't have made you think I care about you that way." I stumble and try to amend my words, "I mean, I care about you, I do, which makes this worse. I'm not in love with you, though. I shouldn't use you like this, just to try to make myself feel better."

Strangely enough, my confession seems to improve Jacob's mood.

"Oh, if that's all, don't worry about it. You can use me to feel better anytime you like." He smiles at me, a cheeky smile, and now it's my turn to frown.

"No, really, I don't want you to think that this is something I normally do. I don't pick someone up just to sleep with him or make myself feel better. Well, I've never done it before anyway." I falter. There really are no excuses. "What I'm saying is, I want us to be friends, but if you don't feel that it's possible, I accept that, too."

I look at him solemnly. I really don't want to lose Jake's friendship. He has been one of the few bright spots in the grey days of November and December. Our conversations and his unfailing kindness to me, how he teases me and listens to me and draws me in whenever we're with his and Siobhan's friends; all of it has definitely given me something to look forward to every week.

He slides up to me and puts his arm around my shoulder, kissing the top of my head. "I really like you Bella, and I don't want to lose our friendship either." His voice is serious, and when he looks at me his eyes are warm. "I'm not going to lie; I want more with you, I do, but if you're not ready to give it I'll accept that – for now. To me, tonight could never be a mistake, Bella. I wanted it to happen, and I think that deep down you wanted it, too, or it wouldn't have. But if you feel like this was too soon, I'll dial it down a notch until you have time to catch up with me."

I frown at him. "I'm sorry if I led you on. Please don't get your hopes up, Jacob, because right now I feel a very long way away from being relationship material. It would be wrong of me to string you along under the impression that I'm going to fall in love with you any time soon."

He leans down and rubs his nose against mine in an Eskimo kiss.

"I'm not worried, Bella. You love me already, you just don't know it." Before I can protest, he jumps up from the bed and reaches out a hand to me. "So, what are we going to do today? Did you get all of your Christmas shopping done? Are we still on for Christmas dinner?" Like me, Jake isn't going to waste money on going back for the holidays, and a bunch of us foreign researchers are banding together at the house of an American professor at the University of London and his wife who are hosting a pot-luck Christmas dinner. I have promised to cook a vegetarian hot dish and Jake is bringing American beer. I shake my head.

"I have some things I have to do today, but we can get together for lunch tomorrow if you want to? And, no, it's not going to be weird going to Jim and Ann's house together. Just, try not to think of it as a date, okay?"

Jacob nods, and quickly gathers his stuff from around the room, folding the quilt and hanging the t-shirt from the back of a chair. He's neat, for a guy. I follow him to the door and give him a quick hug and don't try to dissuade him from kissing my cheek as he leaves, since he's been doing that for weeks now. Zero weirdness is what I'm going for. Pretend nothing happened.

Once he's gone, I postpone breakfast to go back to my room and start my laptop. I open my private email account and stare at Edward's email. Do I want to know what's in it? If just seeing his signature made me run off in a panic and have sex with a guy, what would it do to me to read his words? I shake my head, my heart beating hard. No, I'm not ready for this. But I'm not ready to throw his words away, either. Maybe it's something completely innocuous. Maybe it's just a "I'm sorry everything turned out such a mess, I hope you don't harbor any ill will, because I don't" type of message. Anyway, I'll read it later, after Christmas is over.

I create a new file on my computer, name it "Past" and save Edward's email before deleting it from my email account. I wonder how he got my address? This is an old email address that only my parents and a couple of old friends still use, the only address I kept tabs on the whole time I was on my sabbatical. If worst comes to worst, I can always ditch it and start another one. I press my lips together as I realize that it's most likely that Rose gave it to Edward, since she's the only one I know who's been in contact with his family. Why would she do such a thing?

I quickly write an angry question to her, then a less irritated email to Charlie, reminding him that since he hasn't told me what he needs for Christmas, his gift will now arrive well after New Year's Eve. Well, I'll probably just give him a gift certificate to tickets to the game of his choice, or a trip to a fishing lodge. He still goes to the mainland occasionally with one or two of his old buddies for a baseball weekend or on an extended fishing trip. Since he refuses to take money from me to stretch his meager pension, I try to provide a silver lining when I can.

When I walk into the kitchen, Siobhan is there, looking at a newspaper and drinking tea. She gestures to the teapot, inviting me to sit down with her.

"Is everything okay?" she asks, her grey-green eyes kind and interested. I pour myself a cup of tea, take the milk and yogurt from the fridge and start fixing myself some breakfast.

"I guess so. Jacob seemed to take it well when I told him I thought sleeping together was a mistake. I mean, he made it clear that he wanted more than friendship, but that he was prepared to wait for me to come around to his point of view." I sigh, sitting down with a glass of water and my bowl of fruit and yogurt. "I hope I haven't screwed up our friendship. I really like Jacob."

Siobhan looks at me and smiles. "So, how was the sex?" I sputter, and spray yogurt around my plate as Siobhan starts laughing. "That bad, huh?" I shake my head and glare at her.

"Don't surprise me like that. It's really none of your business, but the sex was okay. More than okay. If I'd been in love with Jacob, I'm sure I would have found it amazing." I feel myself blushing. "Well, it's been a long time, and it felt good to be that close to someone again. I guess I've missed it more than I knew."

Siobhan leans forward and pats my arm. "I'm sorry Bella. It's just that Alba has been eyeing Jacob for a long time and there's been some speculation as to his size on our girls' nights out. I thought you might enlighten me, that's all." I close my eyes, embarrassed.

"I don't have a lot of experience, but tell Alba that he seems pretty well proportioned. I wasn't surprised, let's leave it at that. Now, can we please talk about something else?"

"Okay," Siobhan leans back in her chair and looks at me. "How about we call Maggie today and try to make an appointment?"

I sit for a minute, chewing quietly and thinking things over. Yes, if I want to get to the bottom of my problems and make sure I'll be ready for a normal, healthy relationship sometime in the future, I should try everything. I look at Siobhan.

"Yes, let's do that. I think it's something I want to do."

'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*

_E-mail from BaSwan (a) hotmail. com to rosalie (a) hale. com_

_Dec 22 2009_

_Subject: WTF?_

Rose,

What the hell are you thinking, giving my e-mail address to Edward? I thought you agreed with me that I couldn't trust him and that the best thing was for me to break off all contact with him? I appreciate all you have done for me and I value your friendship, but right now I need you to not take his side, and to stay the hell out of my personal life. Merry Christmas.

Bella

_E-mail from rosalie(a) hale. com to BaSwan (a) hotmail. com_

_Dec 26 2009_

_Subject: Merry Fucking Christmas!_

Merry Christmas to you, too, Bella. Sorry, but you need to calm the fuck down. You have no business telling me off, since you're not the one who's had a semi-psychotic teenager breathing down your neck for months, doing just about everything but have a gang of Cribs beating down your door. He's been calling my office, getting hold of my home number so I had to change that again, mail-bombing me and sending letters to the firm. I've had respected colleagues and the wife of a partner trying to intercede for him. Finally he came to my office and handcuffed himself to a couch! It's been beyond belief. I'm done!

So I gave him your hotmail-address, the one you hardly use anymore, so what? If you want to avoid him, don't log on! Or if you want to erase him completely, just delete his e-mails on sight. Or put them away somewhere safe without reading them and save them. Then you can gloat in public over his imbalanced ravings fifteen years from now when he's a respected politician trying to marry a Kennedy. Whatever. I don't care.

And for the record, in spite of the fact that he's a piece of shit for lying to you and immature because he's so young - and a bit creepy - he is scarily perfect for you. He's too smart for his own good, good-looking, artsy in that way you like them, and polite whenever he's not madly raving about trying to get your number. Plus, you've had time to lick your wounds; you can't possibly be full of raw emotion still? You'd better start dealing one way or another, because I've got a feeling this guy isn't going away anytime soon. It's time for you to fight your own battles.

Rosalie

* * *

**A/N: So, are you going to kill me now? (Just for the record, I'm Team Edward all the way.) Please don't hesitate to tell me how you feel: you've been eerily quiet for the past few weeks and I don't know if it's because you're still counting to ten with gritted teeth or if you've thrown your hands in the air and given up on me completely... I promise that I have a plan! Thank you for Reading!**


	53. Chapter 53

**A/N: Disclaimer - Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. Thanks to my great beta, Trekgeezer for helping me tweak this chapter! I know the readers are now divided and that some can't forgive me for allowing Bella to sleep with Jacob. I hope that you'll be able to stick with me to the end, anyway - be brave!**

* * *

_You're my lifeline _

_You're the pipeline to all my dreams from here _

_You're my lifeline _

_You're the pipeline to everything, that's clear _

_And if I could make you happy I'd stretch it out for you _

_And if I could give you someone _

_Who would not play the fool _

_But every time I try to know you _

_You send me back to school _

_You're my lifeline _

_You're the pipeline to all my dreams from here _

_You're my lifeline _

_You're the pipeline between love and fear _

_And if I could make you happy I'd stretch it out for you _

_And if I could give you someone _

_Who would not break a rule _

_But every time I try to show you _

_You send me back to school _

_Yeah, you send me back to school_

Soundtrack of our lives: Lifeline

* * *

**Chapter 53**

_**January.**_

**BPOV**

When the office door opens, I'm greeted by a woman who is wildly different from Dr. Banner. A woman, maybe in her thirties, with curly reddish brown hair, dressed in an embroidered shirt and wide brown slacks, smiles up at me. She can't be more than five foot two, with a wonderful face that's shrewd and bright like a copper coin. When I shake her hand, her grip is firm and warm.

"Ms. Swan? Pleased to meet you. I'm Margaret Kaye, but you can call me Maggie. Please come in." She shows me inside her office, which is singular like her. Warm red and brown colors dominate. There are paintings and ethnic objects of art made of wood and clay decorating the open spaces and the walls are covered with bookcases. It's a room I could feel at home in, if I wasn't feeling so distressed. My heart is pounding and my hands feel clammy and cold.

"Please take a seat." Ms Kaye, well, Maggie, points to a leather chair standing at an angle from a high-backed chair with an embroidered cushion on it, where she sits herself down. There's a small table between us with a clay bowl and a box of Kleenex. "You're American I take it?" she asks me.

I nod and take my seat as directed. Her accent sounds vaguely un-British, but then I'm not the best judge. Maggie smooths her shirt down and looks at me with a smile hovering at the corners of her generous mouth.

"So, will you tell me why you think you're here, Ms. Swan?"

I wet my lips and reply. "Bella. Please call me Bella." I draw a deep breath, willing the trembling in my hands to subside. "I'm here because I've been feeling depressed for some time now. I feel like all the light and color has gone out of my life and everything is just a dull monochrome. Empty. A friend, Siobhan, encouraged me to look for help and recommended you." That's the short version.

Maggie looks at me, thoughtfully. "And can you tell me how long this has been going on, or how it started, Bella? Have there been any changes in your life that have affected you emotionally or physically?"

My mind reels. So much has happened I barely know where to start. I can't really say what has led me to this moment, so I just pick up a thread from the confused ball of tangled feelings and memories in my head and start unraveling.

"I went through an ugly divorce last winter. My husband more or less threw me out after more than fifteen years of marriage. He implied that our marriage had always been a failure and that he'd married me for the wrong reasons, more out of pity than love." I feel my voice tremble as I repeat his words.

Maggie gently asks, "Did you believe him, Bella?"

I swallow and give a small shrug. "I don't know. People say things they don't mean in emotional situations. I've seen people going through a divorce who paint their partner and their relationship in the blackest colors, as if denying the value of what they had means that they can justify doing the right thing now. I know that he had been unhappy in our marriage for a long time, and so was I." I frown, remembering seeing James this summer.

"Actually, when I saw my ex-husband this summer, he said something that surprised me. He seemed to say that he had divorced me out of some kind of concern for my wellbeing. I don't know what he meant. Maybe he just enjoys trying to confuse me. He's very manipulative."

Maggie leans back in her chair, watching me. "So what happened after he initiated the divorce? How did you react?"

I still feel uncomfortable admitting to anyone the extent of my weakness. "I … had a breakdown." I bite my lip and twist my hands together in my lap, wishing that I could get up out of the deep chair and start pacing instead. "I wept without reason; I couldn't sleep. I had panic attacks that left me trembling and useless, unable to breathe, unable to speak. I shied away from all social contacts and isolated myself since I didn't want to explain my situation to others and couldn't trust my own reactions." Maggie just looks at me, no visible judgment on her face.

"And did you receive some kind of help, then?" I nod.

"A friend of mine, Rosalie, who is a lawyer, helped me get legal counsel and looked out for me. She got me to see a doctor and I was given anxiety medication and sleeping pills. I took spring off from my work in San Francisco and went to stay in her beach house in southern California, to get better and to work on my book."

"How did that go?" Maggie asks. Her face is kind but detached, and I wonder what kind of stories she usually listens to in that chair: abuse, child neglect, fetishes or grief trauma? I probably seem pathetic and privileged.

"Well, I slowly got better. I mean, my panic attacks and nightmares subsided gradually. I started seeing a behavior therapist and with her I worked on identifying situations that made me uncomfortable and techniques to alleviate anxiety. I focused on eating better and working out regularly to take control of my body. After a while, I began to wean myself away from the pills, but I still had a hard time being around people. I tried to leave the house only sparingly and kept my interactions with others to a minimum. I had this weird feeling that people were watching me all the time. That they judged me." I fidget, embarrassed, "I know that sounds paranoid, but I couldn't help it. I felt, still feel … ugly."

Maggie shifts in her chair, then asks, "Can you remember any other times in your life when you experienced similar feelings, being judged by others or feeling ugly? Was that your first encounter with a therapist?"

I feel my heartbeat pick up again, and I force myself to take slow breaths. "No. I saw a therapist when my husband and I lost our baby girl. My husband demanded it because he thought I needed professional help."

"You didn't agree," Maggie states matter-of-factly. I shake my head.

"The therapist didn't understand what I was going through at the time. Talking with him didn't help me. He kept insisting that what happened was a tragic accident and that all my reactions were normal." I draw a deep breath. I tried to tell Dr. Moore that I felt my lack of connection with Lily had somehow contributed to her death, but he kept hammering home that I was just suffering from a lack of sleep and emotional exhaustion, made worse by grief.

"And you didn't feel that your own reactions were normal?" Maggie is so still that I start to fidget in my chair. How can someone be so focused? It's as if she had a flashlight trained on me, following every breath I take with absolute attention.

"No. I thought I was an inadequate mother, and I was afraid that somehow my deficiency had caused the death of Lily, my baby daughter. He refused to listen, so I gave up and stopped telling him what I felt and started saying what I thought he wanted to hear."

Maggie smiles, a small movement at the corners of her mouth, but there's no amusement.

"Is that how you have approached therapy, then, in the past? Saying what you think that I, the therapist wants to hear?"

I shake my head and feel my cheeks flush. Put like that it makes me sound rather childish. What's the point of therapy if I'm not prepared to be honest? But what's the point of seeing a therapist who isn't interested in the truth?

"No, but I need to know before we go ahead that you're willing to listen to what I have to say and not push your theories on me."

Maggie raises her eyebrows. "Is that your experience? Bella, let me tell you something: this is a safe place. In here, you may say anything you want. I'm not here to judge you, or to push theories on you. My job is to try to hear what you're saying and help you hear it, too. My hope is that we'll be able to see how you feel about yourself and your life, what aspects of it are positive and worth strengthening, and what aspects of it are draining your energy and making you feel depressed. I don't normally prescribe drugs, but if we get to a point where I feel you would benefit from anti-depressants, we can discuss that, too. What do you think of that?"

I sit still for a moment, letting the silence stretch out. Am I prepared to try this again? I look at Maggie. She seems like a person I could grow to trust, I feel a certain affinity to her and to this room. Maybe it is indeed a safe place. I nod.

"All right. I'll try to be honest with you, if you'll try to take what I say seriously. I'm not interested in medication, but if you feel we need to discuss it, we can."

"Fine. Now, what is uppermost in your mind? What is bothering you right now?"

I sit up straighter and then reach for my bag, taking out a brown envelope. "Something happened yesterday that I don't understand. My father had been cleaning house over Christmas and found some of my old school things. He sent me a couple of essay books because he thought I would think it was fun to read them again, but when it arrived in the mail yesterday and I opened it, I had the strangest reaction. I started crying and shaking, and I had to put them away in a bag and hide them at the back of my closet. It scared me because I don't understand why it happened."

Maggie takes the envelope from me and looks at me as it rests in her lap. "And how do you feel now?"

I grind my teeth, looking at the envelope. "I'm still uneasy. I don't like it. It's as if those pieces of paper were alive, or contained some kind of poison. It's just old essays, for God's sake. Am I losing my mind?"

Maggie gestures to the envelope. "May I look at them?" I nod and look away, taking the opportunity to look closer at the pieces of art covering the walls. From the corner of my eye, I see how she leafs through them.

"When did you write this?" she asks. I shrug.

"I don't know exactly. I started high school in Forks my sophomore year, just before I turned 15, and I graduated when I was 17."

"Were you happy in school? Content? Did you do well?" I hardly know how to reply.

"Um, I did well if you're talking about grades. I took AP classes and aced them all the way, graduated with a perfect grade point average. I had to, you see, because neither one of my parents had the money to send me to college. I had to get a scholarship if I wanted to attend something other than community college."

"So you worked hard in school," Maggie confirms. "And did you achieve what you set out to do?"

I nod. "I got a good scholarship to the University of Chicago and earned my master's degree in English literature there before going on to write my dissertation at Berkeley. That's where I teach now, when I'm not here, I mean."

Maggie nods. "It seems to me you have both worked hard and done well for yourself, Bella. But let's get back to high school: when you asked me if I meant your grades, what were you thinking about specifically?"

I can feel my face cloud over. "High school was horrible. I had a difficult time making friends and ended up keeping mostly to myself. I got along with the teachers but there was a group of kids who were really mean to me." I shift in my chair. "I get it, I mean, I grasped the rules of high school life, the pecking order or whatever, but I couldn't wait to get out of there."

"You say that you understood the pecking order of your high school environment. What did you mean by that? Why were you singled out?"

I start feeling prickly all over. I don't want to think about those days. I try to keep it brief.

"High school wasn't really much different from middle school. You know the score: some kids are popular and some kids are not. There are groups, and you get sorted into one of them, regardless of what you think. I was fat in middle school and so I was one of the ugly kids. Then I always did well in school, so I was a geek. When I got to Forks, I was the daughter of a cop, so I was a pariah. There was really nothing I could do about it, except to keep my head down and endure it."

Maggie is looking at me, but I look down at my hands in my lap.

"So, this was a time in your life when you were unhappy? Do you think that this unhappiness has somehow loaded the books your father sent with that emotion?"

I shrug. "All I know is that I felt I wanted to burn them on sight."

"Then maybe you should." I look up, surprised. Maggie's face is neutral – she's not joking. "Sometimes, a symbolic action can be liberating. If you feel like you want to erase those feelings, maybe burning the books will be a strong expression of that wish." I hesitate, and Maggie inserts a new question.

"You mentioned being fat, and when Siobhan talked to me on the phone, she felt that you were working yourself too hard and keeping yourself on an unusually strict diet. Would you like to tell me a little bit more about how you feel about your body?"

Boy, this is hard, but it shouldn't be. God knows I've thought about it enough. I brace myself to tell the truth, or enough of the truth.

"I feel that I need to control my body better to be able to control myself, my life. Being the fat kid in school was pretty hard, as I'm sure you can imagine, and my mother has always needled me about my weight. She has weighed 110 pounds since she was seventeen, so she thinks everyone else should." I snort, then quickly return to sober. "And she was right, up to a point, I mean, being fat made me unhappy." I shrug. Renee and I have never seen eye to eye on food, but I've learnt to ignore her.

"Anyway, I grew out of it in my teens, but in Forks I was still the ugly kid; by then it was just the way everybody saw me. Then later, when I was pregnant in my thirties, I gained a lot of weight again and I never really lost it. Maybe that was one of the reasons why my husband and I gradually drifted apart: he just didn't feel attracted to me anymore, and I didn't feel attractive." I take a deep breath, plunging on.

"Anyway, after the divorce, when I felt everything disintegrating, I decided to turn my life around. I started dieting and exercising to sleep better and get in better shape. I'm still doing it now, because it makes me feel better, it's become a routine. And I'm not an anorectic, whatever Siobhan may have told you. I eat three times a day, and I exercise three or four times a week and that's perfectly normal. I'm not even thin, you can see that for yourself, can't you?"

Maggie looks at me intently, then tilts her head as if she's considering what I'm saying.

"Bella, you look perfectly normal to me. You should remember that normal isn't a certain set of physical qualities but includes a wide range of ways to be human. Siobhan also looks normal to me. What do you think of her?"

I choke a little. Siobhan has been a wonderful friend to me ever since my bathroom bawl before Christmas, but in February she's going back to Ireland and someone else will take her place in the other bedroom. I know I'm going to miss her terribly.

"I think that Siobhan is a beautiful person, inside and out. I love her." I squint at Maggie, angrily." I don't have any hang-ups about other people's weight, if that's what you mean?"

Maggie shakes her head. "I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to imply that. So, you find Siobhan beautiful, inside and out. How about yourself? How would you describe yourself, Bella?"

I squirm in my chair; the leather feels squeaky beneath my thighs.

"If you're talking about looks, I'm a middle-aged woman with dark hair going grey and dark eyes. I am a little on the heavy side but reasonably attractive for someone my age. If you talk generally, I'm a middle-aged woman in the middle of an academic career who is having psychological problems for some reason I don't quite understand."

"Do you find yourself beautiful, Bella?" I stare at her.

"Are you crazy? What woman would ever say of herself that she was beautiful?" Maggie smiles at me and it makes her eyes twinkle merrily like candles flickering.

"Oh, I know a number of women who would describe themselves as beautiful. The question here is, would you, Bella?" I dig my fingertips into the sturdy armrests of the chair. _Honestly._

"No." I say carefully. "I couldn't say that I think of myself as beautiful." I hurry to brush it away. "But that's not important. I was never pretty as a girl, and I've learned to get by without being beautiful. There are other values in life. Besides, at my age it becomes an academic question, really. I'm heading for that part of life where men don't see you anymore, regardless of how pretty you were when you were younger."

Maggie is silent, long enough that it becomes uncomfortable.

"Bella, just from this session, I have gathered that there are a lot of things bothering you right now. You're describing feelings of emptiness and a lack of joy or positive emotions that to me sounds very much like an indication of depression. However, when you talk about your life, I can't help thinking that your reaction is not in any way strange." She pauses, looking at me to make sure she has my attention.

"You've been through some major life changes this past year, including a divorce and the move here to England, leaving friends and family behind. And you've mentioned years of social ostracism in school, your parents' divorce, a strained relationship with your mother, and the loss of your only child at a young age. Any of these things might cause depression in a person. I'm not sure, but from what you've said, I'd say that it's possible you've suffered from post-natal depression, too, though it may have gone undiagnosed. Please, don't be offended by my question, but around the time when your baby died, did you have thoughts about killing yourself?"

My throat contracts. I've never really talked to anyone about this; my recurring fantasies about killing myself. They are fantasies, nothing more, I'm sure of it, but there have been times ever since my teens when I have planned the manner of my own death, and culled emotional relief just from the idea that death lay within my reach. When James read my journal, this is what upset him most and it was the reason he insisted that I see a counselor. I think it's the one thing neither one of us could get past; he couldn't forgive me for not telling him how I felt and I could never forgive him for violating my one source of private relief.

"I did have fantasies about killing myself, it's true. You see, I felt so completely worthless there for a while. As if I didn't deserve to live when Lily died. I can't explain it. My life seemed like a complete mistake."

Maggie leans forward a fraction and tries to catch my eye, but I have a hard time meeting her gaze.

"I'm not surprised, Bella. I hope you do know that the guilt and the trauma you experienced were normal reactions, maybe exacerbating feelings that a post-partum depression had already invoked of being worthless and useless as a mother. One out of five women experience post-partum depression, Bella, and they can be anything from mild to severe, life-threatening conditions. I'm concerned that you didn't receive more professional help at the time and I think that some of the things you are experiencing now may be due to old wounds opening up. Leaving your marriage, your job and the United Stated are all traumatic, life-changing events, even if you perceive them as positive in some aspects, and this may evoke feelings of abandonment and worthlessness all over again."

I sigh, my lips trembling. I really don't want to cry anymore. "But what can I _do_?" I hear myself wailing. "This is who I am – this is my life! It's not magically going to change, and I can't go back and do everything over. Are you saying that this is what my life has become now – that I'm stuck with this?" It's awful to say the words out loud, because this is my secret fear.

Maggie shakes her head gently. "No, Bella, not at all. I am merely trying to see what the roots are to what you're experiencing right now, to help you work to achieve some new ground and other ways to tackle life."

I sink my head into my hands, feeling exhausted. "So, what should I do? I have to tell you, I'm really not keen on taking any kind of medication. I'd rather start running again and wear myself out to get a good night's sleep."

"Bella, what we're working with here is compassion-focused therapy. The goal is to teach you how to look at yourself, others and life with empathy. I venture to guess that you spend a lot of time beating yourself up in your head, am I right?" When I don't answer, Maggie goes on. "When you fail to meet a deadline or when you break your routines for eating and exercise, I bet that you tell yourself a lot of harsh things, don't you? Would you tell me what you say to yourself in private, please?"

I cringe. "Okay, I know that I'm my own worst critic, but that's actually a good thing, you know? It keeps me on my toes, keeps me focused. I'm always fair with myself – it's not as if I'm some masochist constantly beating myself up." I look at Maggie, and realize that she's still waiting.

Sighing, I sit up straight and try to give an honest reply. "Well, all right, when I fail to meet my own standards it's true that I call myself names, like stupid or weak, or ugly and pathetic." I feel uncomfortable saying these things out loud. I've always thought of this as a toughening-up exercise, to steel myself against whatever others may throw in my face. If I've said it to myself first, it won't sting so much coming from others, right?

"And how does that make you feel?" Maggie asks. I wrinkle my brow, thinking back to times in front of the mirror. How does it make me feel?

"Um, hot all over sometimes, or cold. Like my stomach hurts and I want to curl in on myself. Like everyone can see just how ugly I am and what's wrong with me, so I don't want people to see me." I blow out a breath, listening to myself. "Oh, shit, this sounds so messed up when I speak about it. It's really not that bad. I mean, anyone who's honest with themself has to criticize themself from time to time, don't they?"

Maggie nods. "Yes, but honesty is not enough to induce the feelings of shame and discomfort that you describe. Listen, Bella, I want to go through some exercises with you. You will do them here, with me, and then at home several times a day until we see each other next week. Whenever you have these negative thoughts about yourself and feel ashamed, I want you to switch modes and start looking at yourself as if you were a compassionate bystander, and talk to yourself from that point of view. It will take some training, but I encourage you not to give up. The first couple of weeks, or in some cases months, are always the hardest." She sits up in her chair and her face takes on a fierce quality I haven't seen before.

"And if at any time you experience anxiety attacks or have serious problems sleeping, or if you have suicidal feelings or thoughts, I want you to call me immediately, Bella – immediately, is that clear? Therapy can open up feelings that you haven't accessed in a long time, and I don't want you to be alone with them, or feel overwhelmed, okay?"

I stare at her, already trembling with a mixture of fear and hope. She is younger than me, but in this moment she seems so … motherly, for lack of a better word. I haven't even started telling her about Edward, but maybe I can and she won't judge me. Maybe she's someone who really cares, someone who can help me. Maybe I'm not alone.

"Okay," I whisper.

Maggie grins, and her smile is the kind that lights up a room. "Good, now I want you to follow me over to the mirror and we will begin our first exercises in compassion together."

'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*

E-mail from eacullen (a) Yahoo. com to BaSwan (a) Hotmail. com

Jan 11 2012.

Subject: Merry Christmas.

Dear Bella,

I haven't heard from you, and I didn't expect to. I've decided that I'm still going to write to you, though, and hope that someday you'll read it. I've heard it said that writing to someone is a way to be close to that person, and I think that's right. When I write to you, it's almost as if you're sitting in the next room, reading or working at your laptop, and I can see that wrinkle in your forehead when you frown over the text in concentration, or that ghost of a smile when you think of something and you can't wait to get it down. Writing to you is the only time I feel close to happy.

Christmas was weird. Grandmother and Gramps came over and stayed with us for the holidays. Carlisle and Esme tried to pretend it was just like any other year, as if nothing had changed, but everything has changed. I'm a different person, and Alice is, too. We have grown up, in good ways and in bad ways, and there is no going back.

We're growing closer, me and Alice, even if things are different from before. She still looks up to me, but there's sadness in her when she sees me now, too. She knows I'm not the perfect brother. She knows now that I never really was. She still loves me, but everything that's happened makes her sad. We don't talk much, but when I'm home she comes into my room and reads and we listen to music, or we sit in the basement and watch a movie together. It's almost as if she knows what I'm thinking. I feel comfortable with her, in a way I would never have thought possible. I've told her I am too sorry for words about everything that happened, and she has told me a million times that she forgives me, even though she doesn't think it's my fault. I know she has a big heart, like you Bella, so I believe her.

On Christmas night I couldn't take it anymore, so I hid in my room and cried like a little girl, because I missed you so much, and because I couldn't stop thinking of all the Christmases ahead when I won't even know where you are or who you're with. Alice came in and sat with me in the darkness on the bed, and pulled her fingers through my hair, like you used to do, and even if that didn't stop the ache in my chest, I still felt comforted. I'm so lucky to have her for a sister.

After my stunt in California before Christmas, my parents demanded that I should talk to my counselor about it. Don't worry, I haven't told them about you. I let my parents believe that my visit to Rosalie's office was because I'd become obsessed with her, and that's the story I'm sticking to with them. College has been something of a shock: I'm working harder now than I ever did in high school and I'm not getting any free rides from my teachers. I'm not complaining. I'm doing okay. I still run track, but I'm not the fastest guy on the track team anymore, which is humbling in a way I didn't expect. People have led me to believe that college is all about partying but I'm staying away from that crowd, even though some people seem to have heard rumors that I'm a party animal. Those days feel like a long time ago, but actually it's only a little more than a year. So much has happened in a year.

I hope you had a good Christmas, whether you spent it in Europe or in the States. I spent a lot of time brooding over what I would like to get you for Christmas, but since I know that you're not comfortable getting presents from me, I will not pester you with the list. I hope you had: people you love, a Christmas tree, an open fire, good music, and all the things you like to eat, in moderation so you didn't get sick.

You know what I would like to do if I could spend Christmas morning with you? I would sit with you in front of a fire, on the couch in our pajamas, bundled up warm. There would be snow outside, and the Bach Christmas Oratorio would be playing in the room. I would have made you a pot of Darjeeling tea, and fresh scones with Cheddar cheese, butter and black currant marmalade (that was your favorite, right?). Then I would make you open one (1) present, and that would be the book you would be reading all through the next two or three days. I would watch you read, and brush crumbs off your lap and be completely and blissfully happy. Why? Because I love you.

Edward

'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*

E-mail from eacullen (a) Yahoo. com to BaSwan (a) Hotmail. com

20 January 2010

Subject: The cruelest of months

I disagree with the poet: I think January is the cruelest month. Did I tell you that I'm a student at Northwestern? Well, I am, and living on the lake, which seemed like such a good idea in balmy September, doesn't look so good now. The icy winds coming off the water these weeks are the kind that make you want to shrivel up and die as soon as you step foot outside the door. I bundle up in my pea coat and knit cap, but I'm still frozen stiff by the time I walk into class.

I started out taking pre-med classes because that's what Carlisle felt I should do, but I'm already thinking about a psychology major or maybe going into psychiatry. After this last year, I'm starting to think that God is trying to tell me something. Maybe if I'd been able and willing to help Alice, none of this would have happened; but then I wouldn't have met you and discovered that you needed me, and that I needed you. I know I'm a screwed-up son-of-a-bitch, but I honestly think I've been able to learn something through everything that we've been through. What if I could learn enough to help other people?

You think this sounds crazy, right? But I'm still going to talk to my counselor about it. I've been seeing the counselor once a week now. That was one of the conditions Carlisle made over Christmas. And even if I thought it was bullshit at first, I'm not so sure now. Her name is Chelsea, and she's really good at drawing things out of me, things I didn't even know I was thinking or feeling.

So, maybe I could be like her sometime and sit in a chair and help other screwed-up people discover what they're really thinking and feeling? One thing came out early on, though, because it was the only thing I'm completely certain of: that I love you, Bella. Don't worry, I haven't told her who you are. But if I can't talk about you to anyone, I'm pretty sure I'll go crazy or do something stupid. You're pretty much the only thing I think about. Okay, maybe that came out wrong. Please don't freak out! Please tell me you're okay, that's all I really need to know. I love you.

Edward

* * *

**A/N: So, at least everyone's in therapy now! What about Bella's self esteem issues - have you ever been there? On another note, I understand that a lot of you really dislike Jacob, but I always thought that if Bella needs him, hey, it's good that he's there for her, no? Love triangles are a bother, though, I think we'd do better without them as a plot device - what do you think? (Vampire Diaries? Lauren Oliver's Delirium-trilogy?)**

**If you want to relax with another fan fic, I've been reading Dancing in the Dark by jaxon22 id: 8751380 Edward is a stripper who suddenly discovers he's a single father left with a baby, and has to deal with Bella - his baby girl's strict attorney aunt. A little humor, a little angst and a lot of attraction. A wonderful depiction of life with a new baby and how that changes your priorities. Thank you for reading!**


	54. Chapter 54

**A/N: Disclaimer - Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. Please give a grateful thought to my dear beta, Trekgeezer who somehow managed to go over this very long chapter before Friday! Any remaining mistakes are all mine.**

* * *

**Chapter 54**

_If I could open my arms and span the length of the isle of Manhattan_  
_I'd bring it to where you are, making a lake of the East River and Hudson_  
_If I could open my mouth wide enough for a marching band to march out_  
_They would make your name sing and bend through alleys and bounce off all the buildings_

_I wish we could open our eyes to see in all directions at the same time_  
_Oh what a beautiful view, if you were never aware of what was around you_  
_And it is true what you said_  
_That I live like a hermit in my own head_  
_But when the sun shines again I'll pull the curtains and blinds to let the light in_

_Sorrow drips into your heart through a pinhole_  
_Just like a faucet that leaks and there is comfort in the sound_  
_But while you debate half-empty or half-full_  
_It slowly rises_  
_Your love is gonna drown_

Death Cab for Cutie: Marching bands of Manhattan.

* * *

_**February.**_

**BPOV**

When Jacob suggests that he accompany me up to Oxford and that we stay over and take some time to explore together, at first I don't know what to say.

"Umm, I don't know, Jacob. Normally I just spend the day at the library, then go back in the evening."

"Exactly, which means that you haven't really given yourself the chance to enjoy Oxford as a tourist, right?" Jacob's warm brown eyes are mischievous as he stares at me across the lunch table. We've met up for a salad at a restaurant not far from the British Library. When I mentioned that I would be going up to the Bodleian on Friday, Jacob immediately reacted.

I shake my head. "No, that's true, I haven't." I sigh. I guess I have been kind of caught up in my reading ever since coming to England and haven't taken advantage of the opportunities to see the sights.

"Okay, then, what are you suggesting?" I look at him, skeptically. Jacob has become an important part of my life here, and now that Siobhan has left he is pretty much my only close friend. Alba and Rosa still haven't forgiven me for stealing Jacob's attention, even though I've tried to make it clear that I'm not monopolizing him in any way. So things are a bit tense whenever we get together as a group. Aidan and I have met up a couple of times on our own for lunch or coffee and we enjoy talking books and music, but it's only with Jacob that I feel emotionally grounded. I sometimes worry that he will misinterpret our closeness as romantic, but so far, it hasn't become an issue.

"Well, I happen to know of this charming bed and breakfast that is not far from the Bodleian and would be perfect for staying the night. We could take an early train, you could work all day and I'll take you out to lunch at some nice place in the middle of the day, then we'll have the evening and next day until the afternoon together to explore. You might even get a couple of hours of work in Saturday morning if you absolutely insist."

I study his face across the table. What makes Jacob conspicuous in any setting isn't just his height and muscled torso, or his long, jet-black hair that almost touches his shoulders when it's not gathered in a neat ponytail, as it is now. It's his overwhelming physicality. He exudes beauty and good health, and his smile is a little larger than life. It's hard to say no to him.

"Just for the record, what would you do while I'm working, Jacob?" I ask. He shrugs.

"Oh, I'll go exploring on my own and do things that you're not interested in doing. Pub crawling maybe, or a dart contest." I smile.

"Really? A dart contest?" Jacob's answering grin is wide.

"Oh, there are a lot of things you don't know about me, Bella. Don't worry, I'll find plenty of things to do with my time."

I shake my head, but I'm already convinced and Jacob knows it. "Well, yes maybe, if …" Jacob whoops and fist-pumps, catching the surprised or annoyed attention of the other lunch eaters and I glare at him. His answering smile is huge.

"You said yes! What? I can't be excited about it?" I roll my eyes and continue.

"I didn't say 'yes' exactly, I said 'maybe,' but what I was going to ask is if we're going to have separate rooms in this bed and breakfast place. It's a deal-breaker for me if I can't have my own room, just so you know."

Jacob wags a finger at me and smiles, but his eyes are serious. "Bella, next time we end up in the same bed it's going to be because you decided to seduce me and not because I was too cheap to book us separate rooms. Don't worry; you'll have all the mod cons you can dream of, including your own bed. So, it's a deal then? I can go ahead and book it?" I nod and he takes my hand across the table and squeezes it briefly before letting go. Then he moves his plate and glass around on the table to hide what appears to be nervous excitement. I decide that it's time to break up this lunch date now, before he starts moving the furniture.

"If you book the B&B, I'll book our train tickets, okay? I'll call to let you know what time we're leaving in the morning. Thanks for buying me lunch and I'll see you Friday!" I gather my bag and coat and head outside into the drizzling February rain. I stop to give Jacob a quick peck on the cheek before breezing back to my desk and pile of books.

During a tea break in the afternoon, I idly check my professional and private e-mails on my phone while leaning my elbows on the scratched table-top in the cafeteria. Shelley Cope keeps me up to date on department affairs. When my book was released shortly before Christmas, she wrote me to say how pleased she was with the result. They will be including it as an English Literature textbook, and she wants me to give freshman lectures on Shakespeare based on the articles in the book when I return this fall. My editor says that the book is getting a British release in May. She wants to arrange a release party while I'm still in London to spark interest in the book. I've somewhat reluctantly agreed to her plan.

My heart jumps at the eacullen signature. Another one. Edward keeps writing me at irregular intervals, but so far I've been saving his e-mails unread in a folder on my computer. I don't feel prepared to confront them just yet. I'm confident that if it was really urgent or important, if he was seriously ill or needed my support, Rosalie would let me know.

As it is, I still think that it's best if we both learn how to survive without the other and find new lives, new routines. Only from a safe distance do I feel able to look back at our summer without a mixture of embarrassment and yearning. If all he wants is to apologize, we're fine, because by now I have already forgiven him – at least I think so. The hardest part has been forgiving myself but with Maggie's help I feel I'm getting there.

Compassion-oriented therapy is something I would probably have snorted at a couple of years ago. It seems so simple that i t sounds like cheap philosophy or a bad joke, but as I've found out, it's a lot of hard work for someone like me. I've always thought of myself as a tolerant person, but I've discovered that I was wrong. I keep high standards, and when it comes to my own life I am an exacting judge. Maggie has made me stand in front of a mirror several times a day, looking at myself and speaking to myself from a compassionate point of view. Whenever I have feelings of guilt, shame or regret, I'm supposed to take a time-out, not only to do deep-breathing exercises to calm myself, but to mentally review my emotions and turn them around to acceptance, love and compassion. It's unbelievably hard sometimes.

Some weeks ago, Maggie made me draw an outline on a big piece of paper on the floor, a life-size drawing of my own body. Then she made me lie down on the paper while she drew my outline with another pen. When we looked at it together, I was thrown.

"Can you see the difference, Bella?" Maggie asked. I frowned at the drawing on the floor.

"Um, well, my drawing is different from yours, but since I was drawing freehand and you had a model, that shouldn't be surprising."

"Yes, but how are they different?" Maggie insisted.

"Well, my outline shows a body shape that is short and squatty, while yours is taller and more slender."

"Why do you think that is?" Maggie asked. I shrugged.

"Because art has never been my strongest subject?" I asked, trying to make a joke of it.

Maggie gently took my arm and walked me over to the mirror. She turned me to face it and stood beside me, so that our eyes could still meet in the mirror.

"Now, Bella, tell me what you see."

"How do you mean, exactly?" I replied, stalling. Maggie gave me a patient smile as if I hadn't given her a hard time like this a million times before.

"What parts about your image do you like and what parts do you dislike?"

Sighing, I started enumerating all the stuff I didn't like, only citing my hair and my eyes as my good parts. I couldn't hide my particular disgust with my fat upper arms, stomach and thighs. I had always been grateful that my behind was behind me, out of sight.

"Bella, now I want you to change your own mind about these parts of your body. Look at them impartially, with a loving and compassionate eye and tell yourself that they, too, are a part of you, beautiful and worthy of love."

I tried, I really did, but I can't say that I felt completely successful. I mean, I could objectively see that they were a long way from perfect or even what's considered normal. When we sat down to wrap up the session, a sense of disappointment followed me. I was unclear whether it was from my difficulties to feel compassionate about my body or from my feeling that normality remained hard to achieve.

"Bella, although I'm convinced that you don't suffer from an eating disorder, I would still like to suggest to you that you have a seriously impaired view of your own body. It's not dissimilar from the warped perception of an anorectic patient." Maggie nodded to the design still resting on the floor of her study.

"It's not uncommon for patients with anorexia to draw their own bodies as much larger than they actually are. You made the same kind of mistake, and even if it's possible that it was just a botched first attempt, I still think that it's significant. Again, the physical flaws that you seem to perceive as so glaringly obvious are far from obvious to me. You may be slightly heavier than the average woman, but it's within the normal BMI range and not immediately visible to a casual observer. I think that this is another sign of your feelings of shame over perceived inadequacies, which you need to work on. I would encourage you to be extra observant in the weeks to come for any tendencies you may have to think disparaging thoughts about your own appearance. Listen to yourself, and then take a time-out and work on turning those comments around."

I think back on how Edward used to tell me that I was beautiful and how he always shrugged off my compliments as if his own physical perfection was a non-issue or an embarrassment to him. Maybe part of our problem was that we both saw only what we wanted to see. I wasn't prepared to see the vulnerable teenager, so I saw the perfect man. He needed a mother but wasn't prepared to admit it, so he found me; an older woman starved for physical affection. He used his considerable charm to please me, giving me something he was comfortable with and felt safe giving – sex. I should have realized that his physical obsession with me could be a sign of something emotionally disturbing that he was trying very hard to bury – probably abandonment issues.

As I close the phone and leave my tea mug, I decide that before the end of February I will read all of Edward's e-mails and decide what to do about them. If I can help him heal and move on, I should. It's the least I owe him.

Friday morning is grey and rainy – no surprise there! I get up early, since I don't want to risk getting caught in traffic and miss my train. I tip-toe through the kitchen so as not to disturb Tía, my new Argentinian flatmate. I arrive at Paddington station almost thirty minutes before the train is due to leave. It's eight o'clock and hoards of commuters are moving at a fast pace under the distant glass roof, between the platforms and the exits. I have no trouble finding Jacob, who stands a head taller than the rest. When he sees me his face lights up from the inside and my heart warms. It's nice to be liked, maybe even loved a little. When I walk up to him he gives me a quick hug and picks up my overnight bag as if it weighs nothing at all.

"I'm really looking forward to spending time with you, Bells." He nudges me playfully as we walk slowly toward the platform, avoiding the stressed travelers darting left and right. I give his arm a little squeeze and remind him sternly, "Hey, today is all about business, remember? I'm going to be working, while you drag your lazy ass around, making Oxford an unsafe place. It's tomorrow that we get to have fun together."

Jake just grins into the air and doesn't comment. I find myself skipping like a young girl, taking double strides to keep up with his long ones. The train ride is about an hour, giving us time to have a cup of coffee and tea and talk about my research before we arrive. It's always refreshing to talk to Jacob and get his take on my thoughts because we share enough theoretical groundwork to think alike, yet have specializations different enough to be able to surprise one another. He teases me for some of my feminist philosophers and I scoff at the colonial chip on his shoulder, all in good humor, of course.

We step off the train into a grey and muggy Oxford morning. "Every time I come here, I have to remind myself I didn't step off at the wrong station," I grumble. As we exit the train station, we're greeted with what looks like an extremely dreary Midland town filled with buses, cars and drab buildings. Jake smiles at me.

"I know. I took the train from Milan to Venice this summer and I couldn't believe how ugly Venice looked when I stepped out of the train station. Of course, once the Vaporetto steered us out onto the Canal Grande, my jaw dropped to the deck and stayed there for the rest of the two days I spent there."

"It was beautiful?" I ask, feeling envious. I've never been to Italy, but I would very much like to go.

Jake shakes his head. "Like you wouldn't believe. All these gorgeous palazzos; they're actually even more beautiful because they're crumbling and worn down. And everywhere you see the sky reflecting into the water, gold and pink and blue at the sunset, throwing reflexes like silver. The colors of the buildings glow with the setting sun." He sighs. "I wish I had a reason to spend six months there doing research, but no such luck."

We take a cab into the city center. Jake drops me off with my laptop close to the University libraries while he takes our bags to the B&B. I've booked my day here with the library desk staff. All I have to do is retrieve my visitor's card and be shown to where the books I've requisitioned have been left for me to sign for. I plunge right into the texts of some long-forgotten medical men, writing in the 18th and 19th centuries on theories and practices connected with female insanity. It's obscure but interesting, and right now I'm doing a wide sweep to see what I can find, since there's very little documentation from Shakespeare's own time.

I put my phone on mute and vibrate so it's not until I remember to check it that I realize it's after one o'clock. My stomach is growling and I have two missed calls from Jacob. I leave the books in deposit, grab my bag and coat and walk outside to call him where I won't disturb anyone. He picks up as I walk out of the entrance doors, wincing at the chilly wind that whips my hair around my face.

"Hey, beautiful, you must be ravenous by now. Did you forget lunch?" His voice is filled with laughter. I blush in spite of myself.

"Okay, I know, it's very cliché of me; "Bookworm Bella," guilty as charged. Did you already have lunch at some fancy place or did you just nap until now?" I jump when someone touches my arm, and jump again when I realize that Jacob is standing right in front of me, phone in hand and grinning widely.

"I knew you'd need rescuing right about now, so I've been reccing the area, mapping out our options." He points in one direction. "Student cafeteria-type place, pretty disgusting food but a high nostalgia factor." He turns around and points in the other direction. "Posh pub, uses badly spelled French to excuse high-priced food, but the wine list looks good." He wiggles his eyebrows at me, since he knows wine is my weak spot. I shake my head disapprovingly, but grab his arm and start walking in the direction of the posh pub.

"No wine for lunch, Jacob, I'm working, remember? And we'll have to make this quick, there is so much more for me to look through before five thirty." He chuckles and pulls me closer, as if to shield me from the cold wind.

"I'd never get between a fellow scholar and her books, don't you worry. Just let me get something warm inside you and you're free to go back to your dusty tomes." His words remind me briefly of just how warm his beautiful naked body was beside me, and I have to push the thought down firmly to battle the new wave of blood to my cheeks. _Not gonna go there._

The posh pub is low-ceilinged with dark wood walls and green cloth-covered benches. There's a fireplace crackling at one end and a bar with gleaming bottles at the other. I almost wish we could spend the rest of the afternoon here. It's surprisingly fun to have a pub lunch with Jacob, who tells me of a morning spent trailing around the most famous college buildings, sneaking in where tourists aren't supposed to go. "We should go punting on the river tomorrow, Bella, it's a tradition," he says, looking quite serious in spite of my incredulous stare.

"Boating on the river in February?" I shudder. "You're kidding, right?"

Jake shakes his head and wolfs down the last of his entrecôte avec les patates frîtes – steak and fries to my eyes. "No, tomorrow is supposed to be really nice; no rain, some actual sun and warmer temperatures. You'll see." His confidence is disarming, and I find myself smiling at him in spite of myself.

"Okay, if the weather is clement tomorrow I will take your suggestion into consideration. Aren't there any cozy greenhouses where we can watch exotic plants growing, instead?" I ask wistfully. Jake raises his eyebrows and shrugs.

"I'll look into it for you if you wish, but I didn't know you were such a plant freak. I was going to suggest a jaunt around the colleges, a lunchtime concert at a church and an afternoon spent browsing the bookshops." I shake my head at him. "What?"

"You know me too well, Jacob, that's all."

He insists on paying for lunch, and then chivalrously drops me off at the doors to the reading rooms, promising to return at five thirty to collect me. As he walks away, I am momentarily tempted to run after him, hating to miss whatever adventure Jacob will no doubt seek out, but as soon as I've settled in with my books and laptop again, I'm once again lost to the world. It's something about the mere smell of old books that is infinitely comforting.

When I pack up for the day, grey dusk is already falling outside. I smile when I feel my cell phone vibrating in the purse against my hip. I sling the laptop bag across my body and fish the cell phone out as I approach the entrance. I already see Jacob outlined against the fading light. I can feel my silly smile reflected in his grin when he speaks into the phone, staring at me.

"Hi. Are you ready for a night on the town?"

"With you? Always," I reply, ending the call and putting the phone away. Reaching up on tiptoe, I kiss his cheek, which crinkles with his smile. I feel a whiff of wood smoke, clean air and cool water that is all Jacob.

He carefully lifts my bag from me and shoulders it without question. I loop my arm under his, noticing how he adjusts the length of his steps to fit my shorter legs as we walk.

"So, where are we off to?" I ask, hunching my shoulders against the chilly February evening. It's stopped raining, but the air feels raw and almost chafes my lungs when I breathe it in. Jacob pulls me closer. He knows how cold I almost always feel in this damp winter weather, since I've complained about it often enough.

"Oh, I found this Indian restaurant on the Internet that's supposed to be good. It's not far from where we're staying. You're okay with Indian, right? Since you don't eat meat I thought it would be a good bet."

"I love it," I reply, squeezing his arm. Suddenly, I'm reminded of my first date with Edward, my nervous mood, his beautiful face across the table and a smitten waitress hovering in the background. Jacob is handsome, too. His height and build are enough to draw women's eyes to him whenever we're together, but I've never felt threatened by their attention to him the way I did with Edward.

For instance, it's obvious that Alba still hasn't completely given up on the idea of seducing Jacob, but he's so cheerfully indifferent to her advances that they fall comically flat whenever she sits down on his lap or squeezes his biceps flirtatiously. Besides, if I did feel jealous it would be hypocritical of me. I need Jacob, but I don't want to monopolize him. If he finds a girlfriend, I'm sure I'll be happy for him. I wonder if we'll manage to keep in touch once we leave England. Come June, we'll both be back on the west coast, him in Seattle, me in San Francisco. It's not impossibly far.

I burrow my chin into my scarf and clench my gloved hands against the cold, turning my attention back to Jacob, who is telling me about his plans for tomorrow.

"I've got it all mapped out, so you can just put yourself in my hands and I'll be your personal tour guide." I smile up at him.

"So, you'll be my Indian guide in the limestone jungle? Keeping me safe from the wild tribes of scientists and students? Preventing me from getting my scalp stolen in a heated scuffle over Kristeva versus Eagleton?"

Jacob frowns at me but his voice is gently mocking. "Bella, really! I would never have suspected you of racial or gender stereotyping. What says you're the one who needs a bodyguard in this environment? Aren't you rather the princess-heir of this lofty, British learning establishment, while I'm the outcast, a representative of all the peoples of color oppressed and despoiled by the British empire and its minions? By rights, you should be championing me, not the other way around."

I chuckle to myself and briefly rub my cheek on the arm of his coat that smells of damp wool and wood-smoke, in a gesture of affection. Dear Jacob!

"Okay, okay, I promise to defend your life and honor against any men in long black coats who want to drag you off to crucify you at the top of St. Magdalene's tower. Just as long as you stick close to me, we'll both be fine." And I actually believe that.

Jacob starts talking about his idea of writing a crime novel set in Oxford, where foreign students and guest professors are found mauled and disfigured in conspicuous places, victims of a mysterious serial killer. I shake my head but decide that I'm game, and most of our dinner is spent pleasurably mapping out the plotline of this hypothetical work of fiction.

"Did you ever consider writing fiction, Jacob?" I finally ask, impressed. "It sounds as if you would be quite good at it." He shakes his head, giving me a sad smile.

"Where I come from, getting into higher education is a feat of its own. They still ask me when I'm going to be done with 'school' whenever I go home. I'm happy I got a job where I can use my degree. I wouldn't dream of risking it for a pipe dream like becoming a writer. Teaching is my real job. This," he gestures to the room around us, and figuratively, Oxford, England, "is a temporary luxury."

I nod. I know what he means. I feel very privileged each time I stop to think of where I am and where I've been. Years of hard work have paid off so much better than I would ever have dared believe when I started college as this timid little brown wood mouse from the back of beyond.

"So, tell me about your family. I know you live in Seattle, but where are you from?" It's strange, but we've talked very little about our personal history. Jacob knows that I was married to some big shot, but got divorced last year. I know that he's single and has an ailing father he sometime talks to on the phone. Maybe we've both been reluctant to bring the real world into this little English bubble we're sharing right now.

Jacob shrugs. "I grew up and went to school on a reservation with my people in Washington state. I'm the only kid from my high school year who got a scholarship and went away to college in a big city." He sighs and runs a hand through his shiny, black hair, then starts shredding a napkin meticulously into narrow strips as he talks. "I was so eager to get out of there and I knew that being smart and getting good grades was one of the few chances I'd get. My sister Emily is smart, too, but she didn't have my determination to get away. She said she couldn't picture living anywhere else, giving up the freedom and the space for living in a city." He looks up at me, dark eyes glinting in the light from the candle on our table.

"To me, the res wasn't freedom, it was just a glorified cage. Most young men who stay are unemployed or get menial jobs, some of them start drinking or doing drugs, some steal the things they can't buy. I knew that wasn't the future I wanted for myself." He sighs again, as if something heavy sits on his shoulders.

"I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for Emily. You see, our mom died when we were kids, and then our dad ended up in a wheelchair after a car accident when Emily was still in high school, after I left home. He gets by, but he wouldn't do so well living all on his own. He's too proud to ask for help, even if he needs it. Emily stayed on the res and got married to her childhood sweetheart; said she wanted to stay close to Dad. Sometimes that makes me feel guilty, knowing that I can do what I do just because she can't." I look at him with sympathy. I know that kind of guilt, and I've seen it in others. It's akin to survivor's guilt, when those who survive feel guilty over escaping something that killed others.

I put a hand on his shirtsleeve, feeling the warmth of his skin through the fabric. Jacob is always so warm, like a sun that never sets.

"Hey, if she married her childhood sweetheart, I'm sure she's where she wants to be. How old is she now? Does she work or is it a fulltime job taking care of your dad?"

Jacob shrugs. "She's 25, but she doesn't have a fulltime job. She did some basic training as a nurse after high school, and she was temping for a small private home care unit that serves the elderly and disabled in the area. But after she and Sam had their two kids, she's been a stay-at-home mom." He frowns at his hands, which have successfully turned the napkin into a neat pile of fragments. "Between our dad and her own family, she has her hands full."

"What about her husband, Sam?" I ask. Jacob glances at me, then away, as if he can't look me in the eye.

"Sam is all right. He's a mechanic. He works for a guy in the next town. He can't help out much at home, though. With him gone, Emily needs our dad's truck to get anywhere, which means that she's pretty much stuck where she is." He looks up at me and this time, he holds my gaze.

"She doesn't complain, but I worry about her, anyway. It's not the life I would have chosen for her, that's for sure. I just hope it gets better when the kids are older."

"Are they girls or boys?" I feel the familiar small twinge at the thought of living with young children. Jacob smiles, and his face lights up like a sunrise.

"It's Rebecca and Rachel – they're two and three years old and absolutely adorable. I almost decided to go back for Christmas just to see how much they've grown." He makes a face. "A year is a hell of a long time in a kid's life. I only get to see them about once a month normally, but by the time I get home this summer, they probably won't recognize me." His obvious love for his nieces makes my heart skip a beat. I've always found it endearing when a man openly expresses his love for kids.

I smile reassuringly at him. "Don't worry, Jacob. They may forget you, but they will love you once they get used to you again. Children are forgiving that way." A thought suddenly strikes me. "How come you don't have a family of your own, by the way? You seem very fond of your sister's girls."

Jacob looks at me with eyebrows raised. "What? You want to marry me off to someone now?" When I huff, he gets serious again. "I don't know why I'm single. You're right: I enjoy the idea of having a family. I've had a couple of girlfriends, but things just never worked out for us." As a waiter comes to clear our plates, swiftly sweeping away the pile of shredded paper, Jacob leans back in his seat, staring at me across the waiter's moving hands on the table. As soon as he's gone, Jacob puts his arms on the table and reaches for my hands.

"How about we make a pact, Bella? If we're both still single this time next year, I'll come look you up and you'll give me a serious chance. You won't know until you've tried that we're perfect for each other." He smiles, and I'm not sure if he's joking or serious. I squeeze his hands, then let go.

"Those kinds of pacts are for sitcoms, Jacob. You can't decide to love someone just because it's convenient." When he frowns at me, I hasten to add, "But I do hope that we'll stay in touch when we get back to the States. I don't want to wait until February next year to see you." This makes Jacob's face light up again, and he grins at me across the table.

"Sure, sure, we'll make plans to get together whenever we can. Hell, if I can drive to Forks for a weekend just to see my family, I could drive down to San Francisco to see you."

I raise my eyebrows. "Your family lives in Forks? I went to high school in Forks!" Jacob stares at me.

"Really? I grew up out by La Push, on the Quileute reservation. Did you ever go there? When was this?"

After another half hour we're clear on the fact that we probably never met before. I'm ten years older than Jacob, and had left Forks a long time before he started high school on the reservation. He knows who my dad is, though, even though he was a good kid and never had anything to do with Dad in his professional capacity. Jacob remembers that Harry Clearwater used to go fishing with my dad and a couple of others when he was a kid, but Dad never took me to the reservation and the kids at my school kept away from the res kids.

He shakes his head and smiles at me. "Wow. Still, that is quite the coincidence, Bella. Of all the places in the Pacific Northwest, we turn out to be from the same Podunk town." He brightens up. "That means that we can go see our families together, if we want. I can't wait to introduce you to my dad – he'll be so thrilled when his weird son brings the daughter of the local chief of police home with him."

I wave my hand dismissively in the air, but to my own surprise I don't feel half as spooked as I thought I might be by the idea of being introduced to Jacob's family. "Don't even think about it. Before you take me home to meet your dad, I demand that you come and see Charlie. He'll have a word or two to say about me going out on the reservation on my own, anyway, so I'm sure he'll want to size you up first." I add, menacingly. "He still has his hunting guns, you know."

Jacob's beautiful tan face blanches a bit, but he smirks at me just the same. "Fire away, Bella. I'm sure your dad will be quite thrilled if you bring home a local boy."

For no reason, Edward's face floats up in my memory, and my heart skips a beat when I remember how I used to cringe at the idea that I might have to face Charlie with Edward at my side. It's true that Jacob would probably fare better under Charlie's scrutinizing eye than Edward ever would, since they're both from the same world.

I remember one of my early sessions with Maggie. Once I started talking about Edward, it was as if flood gates had opened and everything poured out; every doubt, every longing, every joy. It's been a relief to go over everything that happened between us with Maggie. Mostly, she just listens to me, but then she asks me questions that make me see events in a new way. Her clear eyes stare at me with unwavering interest, keeping me honest.

"You said that you thought you had a propensity for falling for impossible men, Bella. Would you tell me a little bit more about what you mean by that?" I hesitated. I thought I knew where this was going.

"Well, I told you that I haven't had a lot of relationship experience and that in college the guys who seemed to be interested were shy and awkward like me. It never amounted to anything and, anyway, they were guys that I wasn't attracted to.

When James and I first started dating he was so different that I just didn't understand what he saw in me. There was some sexual chemistry between us that I couldn't deny. We weren't compatible, exactly, but I thought his confidence was sexy and suave." I felt like an idiot looking back; how could I not see that we would never make one another happy? I sighed.

"When I met Edward, I was in a position where I could help him. I worry that all that happened later was because he felt emotionally dependent on me. The strange thing is that the first thought in my head when I got to know him was, in spite of the mess he was in, he was so far above me we would never have been speaking under normal circumstances. He was the most perfect man I had ever met, I mean movie star perfect. I'm sure that if he had turned up in my place of work I would have fallen just as hard, but I'm equally sure that he would never have looked at me in that way in a million years."

Maggie raised an eyebrow and made a small gesture with her hand as if asking a wordless question. I drew a deep breath and tried to get to the point.

"What I mean is, both James and Edward were men that were clearly out of my league, I could see that from the start. But when they came after me I was so flattered and surprised that I didn't stop to ask myself why they were interested in me – I just fell like a ton of bricks." I gritted my teeth. "I should have seen that James was looking for someone meek that he could easily manipulate and that Edward needed a mother figure." Maggie held her hand up as if to stop me.

"Wait a minute, Bella. I want you to listen to what you just said and reflect on it. Is it true that this is all you were to either James or to Edward?" I paused for a while, remembering good times and bad. James, smiling proudly at me as I walked down the aisle of the hotel ballroom leaning nervously on Charlie's arm, James holding me tight as I sobbed in his arms at the hospital when they told us Lily was gone. And Edward … the slow smile that grew radiant whenever I walked into a room, the reverent way he would touch me in bed, as if I was the most precious thing in the world. His devastated face when Carlisle exposed him in front of me.

Slowly, I shook my head. "No. You're right. I'm over-simplifying again. I loved, and I was loved." We sat quietly for a while as I allowed the feeling to soak into me. I put my face in my hands for a moment.

Maggie's voice was calm and quiet. "Tell me what you're thinking in this moment, Bella."

"I've been so stupid," I mumbled into my hands. "I've allowed people I don't care about to define how I feel about myself, and I've kept people I care about at arm's length." I looked up at her, with smarting eyes. "I was so scared of how I felt about Edward that it took me forever to tell him that I loved him. And ever since he disappeared I've kept telling myself that we were both wrong and that what we had wasn't love; but it was. It is. Even if some part of me thinks it's wrong, I am in love with him." I sighed, a deep, shuddering sigh. "I just don't know what to do with it. I don't see how we could ever be together."

Maggie smiled, the kind of smile that hovers between sad and joyful. "Ah, but that's another story now, isn't it? The first step is admitting that you love him and that you, like any other human being, deserve to love and be loved. If you win that battle, the rest is yet to follow. Will he still love you? Are you compatible as a couple? Will you be able to communicate and fulfill each other's needs? Only then will the other questions have to be resolved: where and how will you build a life together? Will your families accept you? What sacrifices are you willing to make to make it work?" Maggie laughed lightly.

"In short, all the normal questions that plague every relationship and that each couple has to find their own ways of dealing with." She picked up a Kleenex and handed it to me. I sniffed and wiped my nose, surprised to discover that my cheeks were wet.

"Whenever you're ready, Bella. Just take your time."

Now, I sit back in my chair, look at Jacob and allow myself to really think of Edward. It hurts a little, but not nearly as badly as it did before. I miss him, but I'm not afraid of him. He's not this mythical monster in my mind anymore, beautiful and alien. I see him as an intelligent, talented, emotionally vulnerable boy on the verge of manhood who happened to put himself in a messy situation. I don't blame him or myself for what happened. We both made mistakes, but I think we both made them in good faith. Then and there, I decide that as soon as I get back to London, I will sit down and read through all of Edward's e-mails and give him the answers he deserves. No more stalling: if he needs something from me, I'll find out what it is. I'm ready.

Jacob looks at me, thoughtful. "Where did you go just now, Bella?" I smile at him.

"I was just thinking about some unfinished business back home that I've left unresolved, but I think I'm ready to deal with it now." I look at his face, so familiar to me now, even though I didn't know of his existence six months ago. "You've been really important to me these past months, Jacob. I was in a bad place when we met but I think I'm beginning to get better now, and a lot of it is thanks to you."

Jacob's face is torn between different emotions, but finally it settles into a scowl.

"I know that some guy hurt you, Bella, but I want you to know that I'm not him. I would never hurt you or leave you or lie to you. If you have an ex who is trying something, let me know. I promise that I'll protect you."

I look down at the table where the candle is leaving flickering shadows as it moves in the draft of the room.

"I don't think it's about needing protection, Jacob, more that I've needed time to come to terms with some things. I fell in love with a young man who wasn't who I thought he was. Maybe I was on the rebound from my marriage and that was partly the reason why I fell so hard. It was a lot of emotion and it left me drained." I look up at him. "But I'm really feeling better now and I think I'm ready to face life again. Just, please don't think that I'll fall in love with you, Jacob, because that's not the kind of love I feel for you." I sigh, staring at my hands. "If anything, I've come to realize that I'm still in love with Edward."

Jacob snorts. "Edward? That's his name?" When I narrow my eyes at him, he raises his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Sorry, it just seems like an old guy's name to me. How old did you say he was?"

I blush. "He's in college, and that's part of the problem. He's way too young for me. Anyway, by now the whole question is probably academic, because we broke up and he's on the other side of the world. Right now, I just want to make sure that he's okay and then someday I hope we'll see each other again."

Jacob just looks at me, then shrugs and waves the waiter over for the check. "Well, it's your life, Bella. I'm just saying that I'm right here with you, right now, and that should count for something. If this guy Edward was stupid enough to let you go, he probably didn't deserve you in the first place."

Mercifully, that ends our conversation about my love life. Though it leaves me wondering just how serious Jacob is when he professes his feelings for me. To me he feels familiar, like an old friend or maybe an old boyfriend whom one parted ways with amicably. Hugging him or kissing his cheek doesn't feel strange to me, but maybe it's really different for him. As Jacob helps me with my coat, I decide to be a little more careful and a little less comfortable with him just to make sure I'm not sending mixed messages. The hole in my heart is still Edward-shaped and I don't know how long it will take to change that.

The next morning is sunny, just as Jacob predicted, and once we've deposited our bags and taken to the streets I'm surprised to discover one of those sudden changes in temperature that is so typical for the English climate. In spite of it being February, it feels like a spring day. By the time we reach the river, it's close to lunchtime and students are everywhere, some almost in their shirtsleeves.

"Let's go out on the river!" Jacob exclaims when we find a boathouse that rents out punts by the hour. Yesterday I wouldn't have dreamed of going out on the cold, murky river in a rowboat, but in the sunshine with a clear blue sky above our heads, it feels tempting.

"Okay, but I have no idea how to maneuver one of these things, do you?" I look at the flat bottom of the boat and the steering oar skeptically. A rowboat? Yes. A canoe? Maybe, but this?

Jacob points to the other punts already moving up- and downriver. In each of them a guy stands at the aft of the boat, pushing the oar in an intricate back-and-forth movement, almost as if he were knitting in the water with a giant needle.

"It's just like the gondolas in Venice – it's not in the least difficult, trust me," Jacob insists, and pulls me by the hand down to the waterfront. I drag my feet a little, but I really want to try this, too.

Before I know it, I'm sitting at the bottom of a punt with Jacob towering above me. I look nervously over my shoulder at the dark water as he pushes us away from the dock. I'm glad that I'm casually dressed in jeans and boots and not a skirt today. I spread my arms and legs for maximum balance, although the punt seems safe enough.

Jacob swears to himself as he tries to get a hang of how to move the oar, making alternately smaller and larger circles with it, splashing some water in the air. We move forward somewhat erratically and although I'm smart enough to know not to criticize the driver, I'm a little worried that we will either run into the shore or collide with one of the other boats.

After ten minutes of grim silence, when we still haven't moved very far from our starting point, I timidly ask Jacob if he'll let me try. I did some canoeing on Lake Michigan during my college years – the only sport I enjoyed - and I have at least a theoretical grasp of how the oar is supposed to move in the water from the back of a canoe. Punting oars are different, but I'm impatient to see what it's like. Jacob grumbles but graciously trades places with me, carefully reclining at the front of the punt while watching me doubtfully.

It's difficult at first, but after a couple of minutes I find the steady, wiggling movement that at least has us moving along at a slightly faster pace. I have to adjust constantly to prevent us from going in a zigzag line across the river. As we pass under a stone bridge, a couple of students hoot at us and wave. "Way to go, man!" "That's right, keep your woman working for you!" Jacob makes a face and flips them off, but I laugh up at their grinning young faces as we pass, feeling triumphant and carefree. I can do this!

We pass under trees that are grey and leafless, locked in their winter sleep, but somehow still graceful with their bare lacework of branches against the blue sky. We glide along banks where the grass is lush and green and see stone buildings and gardens we don't know the name of. Jacob seems deep in thought while I'm focusing on mastering the art of punting.

Within fifteen minutes, with some difficulty, I turn the punt around and we go back along the opposite bank. Once in a while we're overtaken by more expert punters or smaller boats. By the time we reach the dock again, I've thrown my coat down at the bottom of the boat and can feel my face heat and my hands getting sore, but I feel happy. Jacob manages to swing himself up on the dock and makes sure the punt is securely tied down before he reaches down and helps me climb up. He puts his hands on the sides of my blushing face, then kisses me quickly on the top of my head before speaking,

"Thanks for taking care of me, Bella. Remind me not to go fishing with your dad before I make sure I can handle myself in a boat – that would be too embarrassing." He chuckles as he lets me go, ushering me ahead of him to let the boathouse guy know the American tourists are back, safe and sound.

We take one of the local trains back to London in the afternoon. Jacob falls asleep in his seat, slumped against me, as I watch the sun move towards the horizon. The shadows grow longer across the bare fields, gold and grey. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the glass as the lights inside the carriage flicker on. I remember other times from childhood when I've sat alone by a window and watched the outline of my face in a glass darkly. Unlike the mirror, the window glass only shows me the shape of my face, a glint of eyes, a curve and a shadow. I look mysterious and almost beautiful.

I recall the H.C. Andersen story about the Snow Queen whose mirror broke, spreading countless glass fragments across the world. Everyone who got a fragment in their eye was only able to see the ugly and the bad in life, their perspective forever distorted. Perhaps Maggie is right and I have been carrying a sharp fragment in my eye all my life which selectively blurs my perception. Maybe it isn't true that there's something about me that makes me unlovable. Maybe I've been seeking out people and situations that mostly confirm what I think I know.

I glance at Jacob's handsome face, relaxed and almost boyish in sleep. What if every handsome man that shows an interest in me isn't secretly out to humiliate me or use me? What if my high school tormentor Taylor, James, Edward and Jacob are in fact all completely different people with completely different agendas and needs? Then, maybe there is no inevitable pattern that I'm bound to repeat. Maybe there's actually someone out there in the world who will be able to see me and love me honestly.

When the train pulls into Paddington station I gently bump Jacob's shoulder. "Hey, Jacob! We're here."

He rubs his eyes, stretches his long legs and looks at me sheepishly. "Sorry, did I fall asleep? I hope I didn't snore or talk in my sleep. Please tell me there was no drooling." I laugh and gather my coat and bags.

"Absolutely no drooling, I promise. I'm taking the Tube, how about you?" Jacob shakes his head, shrugging into his coat.

"Nah, I'm meeting Aidan and Garrett in a pub up in Notting Hill in an hour, so I'll probably grab something to eat there and wait for them. You want to join us?"

I shake my head. "No, I don't think so. I have some things I want to do tonight. See you next week, though, and thanks for a lovely trip, Jacob – I really enjoyed myself."

Jacob raises his eyebrows. "You especially enjoyed the punting, right? I'll put punting on my list of emasculating British activities to avoid, right up there with cricket and afternoon tea." When I only smile at him and shake my head he leans in for a quick hug before we exit the train with the rest of the passengers and part ways on the platform.

Once I climb the stairs to the apartment, I feel a mixture of anticipation and joy bubble in my chest like soda pop. I'm relieved when I discover that I have the place to myself so that there's no need to make polite conversation with my flatmate. I quickly dump my things on the bed and unpack my laptop, sitting down at the desk with only the desk lamp and the bedside lamp making pools of warm light in the room. Winter dark presses against the window panes, and faint sounds of traffic seep through. I draw a deep breath, boot up the computer and open the folder I've named "The Past." I'm ready.

'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*

E-mail from eacullen (a) Yahoo. com to BaSwan (a) Hotmail. com

February 13 2010

Subject: My fucked-up life.

Dear Bella,

I always thought I was good with words, but now that I'm writing to you I find out I'm no good at this either. For every e-mail I write you, I delete 10 or 20 others. Why? Because you are perfect. You are the one perfect thing in my universe, and I want my words to you to be perfect. I know, performance anxiety, much?

I am a fuck-up, but you already know that. The thing is, there are things about me that are fucked up and that you know nothing about, and now I feel that I owe it to you to tell you the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God. Maybe that's fucked up too, I don't know.

See, when I met you, my life was at its lowest point, and yet for the first time everything was right. I had been this straight-A student, good at everything I did, good at sports, girls liked me, guys wanted to be me, everyone envied me. And yet inside I was far from the perfect guy they all saw; inside me there was … pure chaos.

I envied everybody else; I was eaten up by jealousy. I envied my parents their perfect marriage, their annoyingly perfect lives. I envied Alice her diagnosis, the love and attention she got for it, how my parents worried about her all the time and never even looked at me. I envied my shallow friends at school their shallow lives that allowed them to envy me, oblivious to the fact that there was nothing right with me or my life. I even envied the geeks and the outcasts at school, because they knew who they were, they knew they weren't going anywhere. They had nowhere left to fall. I felt like I was a hollow shell permanently free falling through the universe, never knowing when I would crash and burn.

I know I was cruel and selfish back then, I used people just because I could, I laughed at people when I should have pitied them, and others laughed with me. Then the thing with Alice happened and I ran away. For the longest time I was just trying to survive, day by day, completely eaten up by guilt, by the fact that I was a monster and that Alice, little Alice, was dead because of me. The thing is, even though I was barely surviving, this felt right. Not just because I thought I deserved to die, and if I died, there would be some justice in that. No, because for the first time, my inner and outer circumstances matched one another: I was an outcast, someone people didn't want to look at, and I knew this was me. Finally I had found my place in the world, at the bottom, and there was nowhere left to fall. I was miserable, and at the same time bitterly content with my fate.

I'm only telling you this because I want you to know that today I'm a slightly better person, thanks to you. You seemed to think that I had this perfect life that I could just go back to, once the misunderstanding with Alice had been cleared up, but the thing is, I could never have gone back if you had not made me new. You showed me what compassion and love were all about. You showed me courage under pressure. You showed me friendship and solidarity and a sense of belonging, and you made me want to be a better person, someone who deserved all these things from you.

For the first time in my life I think I'm getting by on my own merit alone. I'm not trying to use my family, or my money, or my looks or anything else to excel at the expense of others. I'm simply putting in my hours of study time, doing the best I can and keeping up with all my classes. I don't try hard to please, or to get in any of the popular groups, but I do my best to be fair to everyone. I'm in a study group with three people I would previously have considered geeks: Angela, Ben and Eric. Now I can appreciate them for who they are and what they're trying to do. I can be myself with them and they don't question me or push me. I see now that they are naturally what I'm working and learning to become – kind. You taught me how important kindness is, Bella, and now I'm trying to become what you have probably always been – a kind human being.

Maybe I'm rambling, I don't know. I just want you to understand that I see the difference between us now: you're an adult in so many more ways than age, while I've behaved like a child for too long. Deceiving you was childish and selfish, and if I'd been wiser I would have known that this was no way to build the basis for a relationship with you. In my defense I have to say that, once I was under your roof and under your spell, I would have done pretty much anything to stay there. Please believe me when I say that nothing made me happier than when you trusted me with your love. Please believe me when I say that nothing can ever compare to being with you, touching you, baring my soul to you.

I still dream about you almost every night. If I didn't, I don't know if I could bear to be apart from you like this, not knowing if I will ever see you again, bury my face in your hair, nuzzle that sensitive spot behind your ear and kiss your soft lips.

It's late, and I should just give in and stop now, before I say too much. Have I said too much? I love you, Bella.

Edward

*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'

E-mail from eacullen (a) Yahoo. com to BaSwan (a) Hotmail. com

Subject: Age differences

February 25 2010

Dear Bella,

Something strange has happened. I don't remember if I told you the name of that guy that Alice crushed on last spring? He was a senior like me, the school basketball team captain, a tall, lanky guy, blonde and good-looking in that way where you think he would have been pretty as a girl. Whatever. Jasper Whitlock is his name. He's a science major at Northwestern now, so I run into him here and there. Last week he asked if he could talk to me, so we had coffee in the student cafeteria, and he asked me if I was Alice's brother. At first I wasn't sure I wanted to talk to him about Alice. After all, this was the guy who was the direct cause of my baby sister trying to kill herself. But he seemed to sense my mixed emotions about the whole situation, because he just kept talking, with that quiet, Southern lilt that makes everything a guy says sound honest and a mix between dumb and smart.

He told me he had barely known who Alice was that night when she came up and talked to him at the party. She was cute but really wasted and obviously underage, so he didn't take her seriously. Then when she disappeared from school, rumors started flying around that she was dead, or in a psych ward, or in rehab, or recovering from a car accident. Girls from the cheerleading team knew who she was and talked about her, so he kept hearing her name around the team practices and couldn't forget about her. Then when she came back to school briefly she seemed shy and broken, and he couldn't help worrying about her, especially since by then everyone knew that I had gone missing, too, and speculations were running high.

He had started saying hello to her in the hallways, then walking her to some of her classes, and sometimes he sat down with her in the cafeteria. He said she didn't talk much, but that she seemed shy and sweet. He saw her with me before Christmas break when Alice came to visit me on campus, but didn't want to interrupt. Now he wants to know when I thought it would be okay to ask her out.

I was pretty much stunned by that, and torn between planting my fist in his face and laughing hysterically. Jasper dating Alice? Come again? Anyway, I pointed out to him that she is fifteen years old, and way too young to be dating anyone, especially an older guy like himself. Funny enough, he kind of agreed with me, and explained that he didn't plan on asking her out yet, he just wanted to know when I thought it would be okay with her family that he did.

We ended up agreeing that it would be okay if he e-mailed her, then she could make up her mind if she was interested in getting to know him long-distance first and dating would be a later question for Carlisle and Esme. I told him that, personally, I thought it would be wise to wait until Alice was over 18 and going to college, but he just laughed at me and said he appreciated that Alice had an older brother looking out for her best interests. Cocky bastard.

Anyway, the whole thing made me think about the age difference between me and you, and how freaked out you've been about it the whole time, and why I never felt that way. Maybe it's just like it is with Alice: she falls in love with a senior who is three years ahead of her and the only thing she knows is that she thinks they would be perfect for one another. She forgets that three years is a lifetime in high school because at fourteen she feels the most mature she has in her entire life. So it's up to Jasper to be responsible and plan ahead, and to realize that Alice is not ready for dating even if she herself thinks she is.

So maybe you were right, and I'm not mature enough to have a relationship with you yet, for my own good. Maybe you're like Jasper, biding your time, waiting for me to turn into someone you could be with? But on the other hand, I'm over 18, in college and should be able to date whoever I want. I'm sure that the only woman I want to date is you, Bella. So, if you're making me wait for my own good, please, please don't make me wait too long. Patience is not my strongest trait and I really can't wait to start my life with you. I love you.

Edward

* * *

**A/N: I'm sorry that I haven't been quick in answering your reviews; I'm just so busy now writing the end of this story. I promise I will get back to each and every one of you, though, because I really appreciate your comments! Meanwhile, tell me how you would have reacted to Edward's e-mails? Does he seem romantic and loving to you, or depressed and obsessed?**

**Outside of fan fic, I've been reading Holly Black's YA trilogy White Cat/Red Glove/Black Heart, about teenage "Curse Workers" aka magicians in contemporary America and found them dark, sweet, funny and deeply fascinating. I recommend them for summer reading…**


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